HULBERT  FQOTNER, 


THE    FUR 
BRINGERS 

A  STORY  OF  THE  CANADIAN  NORTHWEST 


by 

HULBERT  FOOTNER 

Author  of  "Jack  Chanty,"  "Thieves  Wit" 
"A  Substitute  Millionaire,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  JAMES  A.  McCANN  COMPANY 

1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
THE  JAMES  A.  McCANN  COMPANY 

All  Rights  Reserved 


PRINTED  IN  THE  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  JUNE  FEVER 7 

II.  FORT  ENTERPRISE 15 

III.  COLINA 26 

IV.  THE  MEETING 32 

V.  AN  INVITATION  TO  DINE 39 

VI.  THE  DINNER 45 

VII.  Two  INTERVIEWS 52 

VIII.  IN  AMBROSE'S  CAMP 60 

IX.  LOVERS 67 

X.  ANOTHER  VISITOR 75 

XI.  ALEXANDER  SELKIRK  AND  FAMILY 81 

XII.  GATHERING  SHADOWS 89 

XIII.  THE  QUARREL 97 

XIV.  SIMON  GRAMPIERRE        104 

XV.  THE  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN Ill 

XVI.  COLINA  COMMANDS 117 

XVII.  THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE 125 

XVIII.  A  BLOODLESS  CAPTURE 135 

XIX.  WOMAN'S  WEAPONS 141 

XX.  UNDERCURRENTS 147 

XXI.  THE  SUBTLETT  OF  GORDON  STRANGE       ....  153 

XXII.  THE  "TEA  DANCE"       .     . 158 

XXIII.  FIRE  AND  RAPINE 163 

XXIV.  COLINA  RELENTS 170 

XXV.  ACCUSED 176 

XXVI.  CONVICTED 185 

XXVII.  A  CHANGE  OF  JAILERS  192 


2129G53 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII.  A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE 198 

XXIX.  NESIS 206 

XXX.  FREE 215 

XXXI.  THE  ALARM 223 

XXXII.  THE  TRAP ...  230 

XXXIII.  THE- TEST ...  237 

XXXIV.  ANOTHER  CHANGE  OF  JAILERS 244 

XXXV.  THE  JAIL  VISITOR 254 

XXXVI.  COLINA'S  ENTERPRISE 262 

XXXVII.  MARYA 268 

XXXVIII.  THE  FINDING  OF  NESIS 274 

XXXIX.  THE  TRIAL 283 

XL.  AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 293 

XLI.  FROM  DUMB  LIPS 298 

XLII.  THE  AVENGING  OF  NESIS 304 

XLIII.  NEWSPAPER  CLIPPINGS  .  308 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 


THE   FUR   BRINGERS 


CHAPTER  I. 

JUNE   FEVEE. 

THE  firm  of  Minot  &  Doane  sat  on  the  doorsill  of 
its  store  on  Lake  Miwasa  smoking  its  after-supper 
pipes. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  of  a  brilliant  day  in  June.  The 
westering  sun  shone  comfortably  on  the  world,  and 
a  soft  breeze  kept  the  mosquitoes  at  bay. 

Moreover,  the  tobacco  was  of  the  best  the  store 
afforded;  yet  there  was  no  peace  between  the  two. 
They  bickered  like  schoolboys  kept  indoors. 

"How  many  link-skins  in  the  bale  you  made  up  to- 
day?" asked  Peter  Minot. 

"Three-seventy-two,"  his  young  partner  answered 
in  a  surly  tone  that  was  in  itself  a  provocation. 

"I  made  it  three-seventy-three,"  said  Peter  curtly. 

"What's  the  difference?"  demanded  Ambrose 
Doane. 

"Seven  dollars,"  said  Peter  dryly. 

"Well,  you  can  claim  the  extra  one,  can't  you," 
snarled  Ambrose,  "and  make  an  allowance  if  it's  found 
short?" 

"That's  not  the  way  I  like  to  do  business !" 

"Too  bad  about  you!" 

The  older  man  frowned  darkly,  clamped  his  teeth 
upon  his  pipe,  and  held  his  tongue. 

His  silence  was  an  additional  aggravation  to  thtf 

7 


8  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

other.  "What  do  you  want  me  to  do,"  he  burst  out 
with  an  amount  of  passion  absurdly  disproportionate 
to  the  matter  at  issue,  "cut  it  open  and  count  it  over 
and  bale  it  up  again?" 

"To  blazes  with  it!"  said  Peter.  "I  want  you  to 
keep  your  temper!" 

"I'm  sick  of  this!"  cried  Ambrose  with  the  wilful 
abandon  of  one  hopelessly  in  the  wrong.  "You're  at 
me  from  morning  till  night !  Nothing  I  do  is  right. 
Why  can't  you  leave  me  alone?" 

Peter  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  looked 
at  his  young  partner  in  astonishment.  His  face  turned 
a  dull  brick  color  and  his  blue  eyes  snapped. 

He  spoke  in  a  voice  of ' portentous  softness:  "Who 
the  hell  do  you  think  you  are?  A  little  gorramighty? 
To  make  a  mistake  is  natural ;  to  fly  into  a  temper 
when  it  is  discovered  is  childish.  What's  the  matter 
with  you  these  past  ten  days,  anyway?  A  man  can't 
look  at  you  but  you  begin  to  bark  and  froth.  You'd 
best  go  off  by  yourself  a  while  and  eat  grass  to  cool 
your  blood!" 

Having  delivered  himself,  Peter  pulled  deeply  at  his 
pipe  and  gazed  across  the  lake  with  a  scowl  of  honest 
resentment. 

It  was  a  long  speech  to  come  from  Peter,  and  it 
went  unexpectedly  to  the  point.  Ambrose  was  si- 
lenced. For  a  long  time  neither  spoke. 

Little  by  little  the  angry  red  faded  out  of  Peter's 
cheeks  and  neck,  and  his  forehead  smoothed  itself. 
Stealing  a  glance  at  young  Ambrose,  the  blue  eyes 
began  to  twinkle. 

"Say!"  he  said  suddenly. 

Ambrose  twisted  petulantly  and  muttered  in  his 
throat. 

"Stick  out  your  tongue!"  commanded  Peucr. 

Ambrose  stared  at  him  in  angry  stupefaction. 
"What  the  deuce — " 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  9 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "you're  not  sick.  Your  eyeballs 
is  as  clean  as  new  milk;  your  skin  is  as  pink  as  a 
spanked  baby.  No,  you're  not  sick,  so  to  speak!" 

There  was  another  silence,  Ambrose  squirming  a 
little  and  blushing  under  Peter's  calm,  speculative 
gaze. 

"Have  you  anything  against  me?"  Peter  finally  in- 
quired. "If  you  have,  out  with  it!" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head  unhappily. 

Forget  it  then !"  cried  Peter  with  a  scornful,  kindly 
grin.  "You  ornery  worthless  Slavi,  you !  You  Shush- 
wap!  You  Siwash!  Change  your  face  or  you'll  give 
the  dog  distemper!" 

Ambrose  laughed  sheepishly  and  stole  a  glance  at 
his  partner.  There  was  pain  in  his  bold  eyes,  and 
the  wish  to  bare  it  to  his  friend  as  to  a  surgeon; 
but  he  dreaded  Peter's  laughter. 

There  was  another  long  silence.  The  atmosphere 
was  now  much  clearer. 

Peter,  having  come  to  a  conclusion,  removed  his 
pipe  and  spoke  again :  "I  know  what's  the  matter  with 
you." 

"What?"  muttered  Ambrose. 

"You've  got  the  June  fever." 
'   Ambrose  made  no  comment. 

"I  mind  it  when  I  was  your  age,"  Peter  continued; 
"when  the  ice  goes  out  of  the  lake  and  the  poplar- 
trees  hang  out  their  little  earrings,  that's  when  a 
man  catches  it — when  Molly  Cottontail  puts  on  her 
brown  jacket  and  Skinny  Weasel  a  yellow  one.  The 
south  wind  brings  the  microbe  along  with  it,  and  it 
multiplies  in  the  warm  earth.  Gee!  It  makes  even 
an  old  feller  like  me  poetical.  After  six  months  of 
winter  it's  hell !" 

Still  Ambrose  kept  his  eyes  down  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

Peter  smoked  on,  and  his  eyes  became  reminiscent. 


10  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"I  mind  it  well,"  he  continued,  "the  second  spring  I 
was  in  the  country.  The  first  year  I  didn't  notice  it 
so  much,  but  the  second  year — when  the  warm  weather 
come  I  was  like  a  wild  man.  I  saw  red !  I  wanted  to 
fight  every  man  I  laid  eyes  on.  I  felt  like  I  would  go 
clean  off  my  head  if  I  couldn't  smash  something!" 

Ambrose  broke  in  on  Peter's  reminiscences.  He 
seemed  scarcely  to  have  heard. 

"I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me !"  he  cried 
bitterly.  "I  can't  seem  to  settle  down  to  anything 
lately.  I've  got  no  use  for  myself  at  all.  I  get  so 
cranky,  anybody  that  speaks  to  me  I  want  to  punch 
them.  God  knows  I  neec1  -ompany,  too.  It  is  certainly 
square  of  you  to  put  up  with  me  the  way  you  do.  I 
appreciate  it — " 

"Aw,  bosh!"  muttered  Peter. 

"I've  tried  to  work  it  off!"  cried  Ambrose.  "You 
know  I've  worked,  though  I've  generally  made  a  mess 
of  things  because  I  can't  keep  my  mind  on  anything. 
My  head  goes  round  like  a  top.  Half  the  time  I'm  in  a 
daze.  I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  crazy.  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  me!" 

"Twenty-five  years  old,"  murmured  Peter;  "in  the 
pink  of  condition !  I'm  telling  you  what's  the  matter 
with  you.  It's  a  plain  case  of  June  fever.  Ask  any 
of  the  fellows  up  here." 

"What  am  I  going  to  do  ?"  said  Ambrose.  "As  it  is, 
I  work  till  I'm  ready  to  drop." 

"I  mind  when  I  had  it,"  said  Peter,  "I  came  to  a 
camp  of  French  half-breeds  on  Musquasepi,  and  I  saw 
Eva  Lajeunesse  for  the  first  time.  It  was  like  a  blow 
between  the  eyes.  You  do  not  know  what  she  looked 
like  then.  I  didn't  think  about  it  this  way  or  that ; 
I  just  up  and  married  her.  I  was  glad  to  get  her! 

"Man  to  man  I'll  not  deny  I  ain't  been  sorry  some- 
times," he  went  on;  "who  ain't,  sometimes?  But,  on 
the  whole,  after  all  these  years,  how  could  I  have  done 
any  better?  She's  good  enough  for  me.  A  man  wor- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  11 

ries  about  his  children  sometimes;  but  I  guess  if  they 
go  straight  there's  a  place  for  them,  though  they  are 
dusky.  Eva,  she  has  her  bad  points,  but  she's  been 
real  good  to  me.  How  can  I  be  but  grateful!" 

This  was  a  rare  and  unusual  confidence  for  Peter 
to  offer  his  young  partner.  Ambrose,  flattered  and 
embarrassed,  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

He  was  right,  for  if  he  had  referred  to  it,  Peter 
would  have  been  obliged  to  turn  it  into  a  joke.  As 
it  was,  they  smoked  on  in  understanding  silence. 
Finally  Peter  went  on: 

"You  see,  I  gave  right  in.  You're  different;  you 
want  to  fight  the  thing.  Blest  if  I  know  what  to  tell 
you." 

"Eva  and  I  don't  get  on  very  well,"  said  Ambrose 
shamefacedly.  "She  doesn't  like  me  around  the  house. 
But  I  respect  her.  You  know  that." 

"Sure,"  said  Peter. 

"I  couldn't  do  it,  Peter,"  Ambrose  went  on  after  a 
while  with  seeming  irrelevance — howsoever  Peter  under- 
stood. "God  knows  it's  not  because  I  think  myself 
any  better  than  anybody  else,  or  because  I  think 
a  man  does  for  himself  by  marrying  a — by  marrying 
up  here.  But  I  just  couldn't  do  it,  that's  all." 

"No  offense,"  said  Peter.  "Every  man  must  chop 
his  own  trail.  I  won't  say  but  what  you're  right.  But 
what  are  you  going  to  do?  A  man  can't  live  and  die 
alone." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ambrose. 

"Tell  you  what,"  said  Peter;  "you  take  the  furs 
out  on  the  steamboat." 

"I  won't,"  said  Ambrose  quickly.  "I  went  out  last 
year.  It's  your  turn." 

"But  I'm  contented  here,"  said  Peter. 

Ambrose  shook  his  head.  "It  wouldn't  do  me  any 
real  good,"  he  said.  "It  makes  it  worse  after.  It 
did  last  year.  I  couldn't  bring  a  white  wife  up  here." 


12  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Well,  sir,  it's  a  problem,"  said  Peter  with  a 
weighty  shake  of  the  head. 

This  serious,  sentimental  kind  of  talk  was  a  strain 
on  *x>th  partners.  Ambrose  made  haste  to  drop  the 
subject. 

"I  believe  I'll  start  the  new  warehouse  to-morrow," 
he  said.  "I  like  to  work  with  logs.  First,  I  must 
measure  the  ground  and  make  a  working  plan." 

Peter  was  not  sorry  to  be  diverted.  "Hadn't  we 
better  get  lumber  from  the  'Company'  mill?"  he  sug- 
gested. "Looks  like  up  to  date  somehow." 

"A  board  shack  looks  rotten  in  the  woods,"  said 
Ambrose. 

"You're  so  gol-durn  artistic,"  said  Peter  quizzically. 

Minot  &  Doane's  store  was  a  long  log  shack  with 
a  sod  roof  sprouting  a  fine  crop  of  weeds.  The  orig- 
inal shack  had  been  added  to  on  one  side,  then  on  the 
other.  There  was  a  pleasing  diversity  of  outline  in 
the  main  building  and  its  wings.  The  whole  crouched 
low  on  the  ground  as  though  for  warmth. 

Three  crooked  little  windows  and  three  doors  so 
low  that  a  short  man  had  to  duck  his  head  under  the 
lintels,  faced  the  lake.  The  middle  door  gave  ingress 
to  the  store  proper;  the  door  on  the  right  was  the 
entrance  to  Peter  Minot's  household  quarters;  while 
that  on  the  left  opened  to  a  large  room  used  va- 
riously for  stores  and  bunks. 

Farther  to  the  left  stood  the  little  shack  that 
housed  Ambrose  Doane  in  bachelor  solitude,  and  a  few 
steps  beyond,  the  long,  low,  log  stable  for  the  use 
of  the  freighters  in  winter. 

Seen  from  the  lake  the  low,  spreading  buildings  in 
the  rough  clearing  among  gigantic  pines  were  not 
unpleasing.  Rough  as  they  were,  they  fulfilled  the 
first  aim  of  all  architecture;  they  were  suitable  to  the 
site. 


13 

The  traveler  by  water  landed  on  a  stony  beach, 
climbed  a  low  bank  and  followed  a  crooked  path  to  the 
door  of  the  store.  On  either  hand  potato  and  onion 
patches  flourished  among  the  stumps. 

From  the  door-sill  where  the  partners  sat,  the 
farther  shore  of  the  lake  could  be  seen  merely  as  a 
delicate  line  of  tree  tops  poised  in  the  air. 

Off  tc  the  right  their  own  shore  made  out  in  a 
shallow,  sweeping  curve,  ending  half  a  mile  away  in 
a  bold  hill-point  where  the  Company's  post  of  Fort 
Moultrie  had  stood  for  two  hundred  years  command- 
ing the  western  end  of  the  lake  and  its  outlet,  Great 
Buffalo  River. 

To  one  who  should  compare  the  outward  aspects  of 
the  two  establishments,  Minot  &  Doane's  offered  a 
ludicrous  contrast  to  the  imposing  white  buildings  of 
Fort  Moultrie,  arranged  military-wise  on  the  grassy 
promontory;  nevertheless,  as  is  not  infrequently  the 
case  elsewhere,  the  humbler  store  did  the  larger  trade. 

The  coming  of  Peter  Doane  ten  years  before  had 
worked  a  kind  of  revolution  in  the  country.  He  had 
brought  war  into  the  very  stronghold  of  the  arrogant 
fur  monopoly,  and  had  succeeded  in  establishing  him- 
self next  door.  The  results  were  far-reaching.  For- 
merly the  Indian  sat  humbly  on  the  step  with  his 
furs  until  the  trader  was  pleased  to  open  his  door; 
whereas  now  when  the  Indian  landed,  the  trader  ran 
down  the  hill  with  outstretched  hand. 

Far  and  wide  Minot  &  Doane  were  known  as  the 
"free-traders" ;  and  some  of  their  customers  journeyed 
for  three  hundred  miles  to  trade  in  the  little  log  store. 

The  partners  were  roused  by  a  shrill  hail  from  up 
the  shore.  Grateful  for  the  interruption,  they  hastened 
to  the  edge  of  the  bank. 

Summer  is  the  dull  season  in  the  fur  trade.  Most 
of  the  firm's  customers  were  "pitching  off"  among  the 
hills,  and  visitors  were  rare  enough  to  be  notable. 


14  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Poly  Goussard,"  said  Ambrose  after  an  instant's 
examination  of  the  dugout  nosing  alongshore.  Am- 
brose's keenness  of  vision  was  already  known  in  a 
land  of  keen-eyed  men. 

"Taking  his  woman  to  see  her  folks,"  added  Peter. 

Soon  the  long,  slender  canoe  grounded  on  the  stones 
below  them.  It  contained  in  addition  to  all  the  world- 
ly goods  of  the  family,  a  swarthy  French  half-breed, 
his  Cree  wife  and  three  coppery  infants  in  pink  calico 
sunbonnets. 

I  The  man  climbing  over  his  family  indiscriminately, 
landed  and  came  up  the  bank  with  outstretched  hand. 
fThe  woman  and  children  remained  sitting  like  statues 
in  their  narrow  craft,  staring  unwinkingly  at  the  white 
men. 

Mrs.  Goussard  as  a  full-blooded  Cree  was  consid- 
erably below  Peter's  half-breed  wife  in  the  social  scale, 
and  she  knew  better  than  to  make  a  call  uninvited. 
Even  in  the  north,  woman,  the  conservator,  maintains 
the  distinctions. 

"Stay  all  night,"  urged  Peter  when  formal  greet- 
ings had  been  exchanged.  "Bring  your  family  ashore." 

Poly  Goussard  shook  his  head.  Poly  had  a  chest 
like  a  barrel,  a  face  the  color  of  Baldwin  apples  and 
a  pair  of  rolling,  gleaming,  sloe-black  eyes.  His  head 
of  curly  black  hair  was  famous;  some  one  had  called 
him  the  "Newfoundland  dog." 

"I  promise  my  wife  I  sleep  wit'  her  folks  to-night," 
he  said.  "It  is  ten  miles  yet.  I  jus'  come  ashore  for 
a  little  talk." 

"Fine!"  said  Peter,  "we're  spoiling  for  news.  Come 
on  up  to  the  store  and  have  a  cigar." 

Seven  hundred  miles  from  the  railway  a  cigar  is 
something  of  a  phenomenon.  Poly  Goussard  displayed 
twenty  dazzling  teeth  and  made  haste  to  follow.  The 
three  men  entered  the  store  and  found  seats  on  boxes 
and  bales. 
' 


CHAPTER  II. 

FORT    ENTERPRISE. 

"ME,  I  work  all  winter  at  Fort  Enterprise,"  said 
Poly. 

"So  I  heard,"  said  Peter.  "You've  had  quite  a 
trip." 

The  rosy  half-breed  shrugged.  "It  is  easy.  Jus' 
floatin'  down  the  Spirit  River  six  days." 

"What  kind  of  a  job  did  they  give  you  at  Enter- 
prise?" asked  Peter. 

"I  drove  a  team,  me,  haulin'  logs  to  the  saw-mill," 
said  Poly.  "There  is  plentee  work  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise." 

"The  Company's  most  profitable  post,"  remarked 
Peter  to  Ambrose.  "They  have  everything  their  own 
way  there."  The  look  which  accompanied  this  sug- 
gested to  Ambrose  it  would  be  a  good  place  for  Minot 
&  Doane  to  start  a  branch. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  place,  Poly?"  .asked 
Ambrose. 

The  half-breed  flung  up  his  hands  and  dramatically 
rolled  his  eyes. 

"Wa!  Wai  Towasasuak!  It  is  a  gran'  place!  Jus' 
lak  outside !  Trader  him  live  in  great  big  house  all 
make  of  smooth  boards  and  paint'  yellow  and  red 
lak  the  sun !  Never  I  see  before  such  a  tall  house,  and 
so  many  rooms  inside  full  of  fine  chairs  and  tables 
so  smoot'  and  shiny. 

"He  is  so  reech  he  put  blankets  on  the  floor  to 
.walk  on,  w'at  you  call  carrpitt.  Every  day  he  has 
a  white  cloth  on  the  table,  and  a  little  one  to  wipe  his 
hands !  I  have  seen  it !  And  silver  dishes !" 

15 


16  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"There  is  style  for  you!"  said  Peter,  with  a  whim- 
sical roll  of  his  eye  in  Ambrose's  direction. 

"There  is  moch  farming  by  the  river  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise," Poly  went  on ;  "and  plaintee  grain  grow.  There 
is  a  mill  to  grind  flour.  Steam  mak'  it  go  lak  the 
steamboat.  They  eat  eggs  and  butter  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise, and  think  not'ing  of  it.  Christmas  I  have  turkey 
and  cranberry  sauce.  I  am  going  back,  me." 

"They  say  the  trader  John  Gaviller  is  a  hard  man," 
suggested  Peter. 

Poly  shrugged  elaborately.  "Maybe.  He  owe  me 
not'ing.  Me,  I  would  not  farm  for  him  nor  trade  my 
fur  at  his  store.  Those  people  are  his  slaves.  But 
he  pay  a  strong  man  good  wages.  I  will  tak'  his  wages 
and  snap  my  fingers ! 

"But  wait !"  cried  Poly  with  a  sparkling  eye.  "The 
mos'  won'erf ul  thing  I  see  at  Fort  Enterprise — Wa ! 
— the  laktrek  light!  Her  shine  in  little  bottles  lak 
pop,  but  not  so  big.  John  Gaviller,  him  clap  his  hands, 
so !  and  Wa !  she  shine ! 

"Indians,  him  t'ink  it  is  magic.  But  I  am  no  fool. 
I  know  John  Gaviller  make  the  laktrek  in  an  engine 
in  the  mill.  Me,  I  have  seen  that  engine.  I  see  blue 
fire  inside  lak  falling  stars. 

"Gaviller  send  the  laktrek  to  the  store  inside  a 
wire.  He  send  some  to  his  house  too.  They  said  it 
cook  the  dinner,  but  I  think  that  is  a  lie.  If  a  man 
touch  that  wire  they  say  he  will  jomp  to  the  roof !  Me? 
I  did  not  try  it." 

Peter  chuckled.     "Good  man !"  he  said. 

The  wonders  of  Fort  Enterprise  were  not  new  to 
Ambrose.  Other  travelers  the  preceding  summer  had 
brought  the  same  tale.  With  the  air  that  politeness 
demanded  he  only  half  listened,  and  pursued  his  own 
thoughts. 

On  the  other  hand  Peter,  who  delighted  in  his  humble 
friends,  drew  out  Poly  fully.  The  half-breed  told  about 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  17 

the  bringing  in  of  the  winter's  catch  of  fur;  of  the 
launching  of  the  great  steamboat  for  the  summer  sea- 
son, and  many  other  things. 

"Enterprise  is  sure  a  wonderful  place!"  said  Peter 
encouragingly. 

"There  is  something  else,"  said  Poly  proudly.  "At 
Fort  Enterprise  there  is  a  white  girl!" 

The  simple  sentence  had  the  effect  of  the  ringing 
of  an  alarm  going  inside  the  dreamy  Ambrose.  He 
drew  a  careful  mask  over  his  face,  and  leaned  farther 
into  the  shadow. 

"So!"  said  Peter  with  a  glance  in  the  direction  of 
his  young  partner.  "That  is  news !  Who  is  she  ?" 

"Colina  Gaviller,  the  trader's  daughter,"  said  Poly. 

"Is  she  real  white?"  asked  Peter  cautiously. 

"White  as  raspberry  flowers !"  asseverated  Poly  with 
extravagant  gestures ;  "white  as  clouds  in  the  sum- 
mer !  white  as  sugar !  Her  hair  is  lak  golden-rod ;  her 
eyes  blue  lak  the  lake  when  the  wind  blows  over  it  in 
the  morning!" 

Peter  glanced  again  at  his  partner,  but  Ambrose  was 
farthest  from  the  window,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
be  read  in  his  face. 

"Sure,"  said  Peter;  "but  was  her  mother  a  white 
woman?" 

"They  say  so,"  said  Poly.     "Her  long  tarn  dead." 

"When  did  the  girl  come?"  asked  Peter. 

"Las'  fall  before  the  freeze-up,"  said  Poly.  "She 
come  down  the  Spirit  River  from  the  Crossing  on  a 
raf\  Michel  Trudeau  and  his  wife,  they  bring  her. 
Her  fat'er  he  not  know  she  comin*.  Her  fat'er  want 
her  live  outside  and  be  a  lady.  She  say  *no !'  She  say 
ladies  mak'  her  sick !  Michel  tell  me  she  say  that. 

"She  want  always  to  ride  and  paddle  a  canoe  and 
hunt.  Michel  say  she  is  more  brave  as  a  man!  John 
Gaviller  say  she  got  go  out  again  this  summer.  She 
say  'no !'  She  is  not  afraid  of  him.  Me,  I  t'ink  she 


18  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

lak  to  be  the  only  white  girl  in  the  country,  lak  a 
queen." 

"How  old  is  she?"  inquired  Peter. 

"Twenty  years,  Michel  say,  "answered  Poly.  "Ah! 
she  is  beautiful!"  he  went  on.  "She  walk  the  groun' 
as  sof  '  and  proud  and  pretty  as  fine  yong  horse  !  She 
sit  her  horse  like  a  flower  on  its  stem.  Me  and  her 
good  frens  too.  She  say  she  lak  me  for  cause  I  am 
simple.  Often  in  the  winter  she  ride  out  wit'  my  team 
and  hunt  in  the  bush  while  I  am  load  up." 

"What  did  Eelip  say  to  that?"  Peter  inquired 
facetiously.  Eelip  was  Poly's  wife. 

"Eelip?"  queried  Poly,  surprised.  "Colina  is  the 
trader's  daughter,"  he  carefully  explained.  "She  live 
in  the  big  house.  I  would  cut  off  my  hand  to  serve 
her." 

"I  suppose  Miss  Colina  has  plenty  of  suitors?"  said 
Peter. 

Ambrose   hung  with   suspended  breath   on   the   re- 


Poly  shook  his  curly  pate.  "Who  is  there  for  her?" 
he  demanded.  "Macf  arlane  the  policeman  is  too  fat  ; 
the  doctor  is  too  old,  his  hair  is  white;  the  parson  is 
a  little,  scary  man.  All  are  afraid  of  her;  her  proud 
eye  mak'  a  man  feel  weak  inside.  There  are  no  ot'er 
white  men  there.  She  is  a  woman.  She  mus'  have  a 
master.  There  is  no  man  in  the  country  strong  enough 
for  that!" 

There  was  a  brief  silence  in  the  cabin  while  Poly 
relighted  his  cigar.  Ambrose  had  given  no  sign  of 
being  affected  by  Poly's  tale  beyond  a  slight  quivering 
of  the  nostrils.  But  Peter  watching  him  slyly,  saw 
him  raise  his  lids  for  a  moment  and  saw  his  dark  eyes 
glowing  like  coals  in  a  pit.  Peter  chuckled  inwardly, 
and  said: 

"Tell  us  some  more  about  her." 

Ambrose's  heart  warmed  gratefully  toward  his  part- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  19 

ner.  He  thirsted  for  more  like  a  desert  traveler  for 
water,  but  he  dared  not  speak  for  fear  of  what  he 
might  betray. 

"I  will  tell  you  'ow  she  save  Michel  Trudeau's  life," 
said  Poly,  nothing  loath.  "I  am  the  first  to  come 
down  the  river  this  summer  or  you  would  hear  it  be- 
fore. Many  times  Michel  is  tell  me  this  story.  Never 
I  heard  such  a  story  before.  A  woman  to  save  a 
man ! 

"Wa!  Every  Saturday  night  Michel  tell  it  at  the 
store.  And  John  Gaviller  give  him  two  dollars  of  to- 
bacco, the  best.  I  guess  Michel  is  glad  the  trader's 
daughter  save  him.  Old  man  proud,  lak  he  is  save 
Michel  himself!" 

Poly  Goussard,  having  smoked  the  cigar  to  within 
half  an  inch  of  his  lips,  regretfully  threw  the  half  inch 
out  the  door.  He  paused,  and  coughed  suggestively. 
A  second  cigar  being  forthcoming,  he  took  the  time 
to  light  it  with  tenderest  care.  Meanwhile,  Ambrose 
kicked  the  bale  on  which  he  sat  with  an  impatient 
heel. 

"It  was  the  Tuesday  after  Easter,"  Poly  finally 
began.  "It  was  when  the  men  went  out  to  visit  their 
traps  again  after  big  time  at  the  fort.  There  was 
moch  frash  snow  fall,  and  heavy  going  for  the  dogs. 
Colina  Gaviller  she  moch  friends  with  Michel  Trudeau 
for  because  he  was  bring  her  in  on  his  raf  las'  fall. 

"Often  she  go  with  him  lak  she  go  with  me.  Michel 
carry  her  up  on  his  sledge,  and  she  hunt  aroun'  while 
he  visit  his  traps.  Michel  trap  up  on  the  bench  three 
mile  from  the  fort.  He  not  get  much  fur  so  near,  but 
live  home  in  a  warm  house,  and  work  for  day's  wages 
for  John  Gaviller." 

Poly  paragraphed  his  story  with  luxurious  puffs 
at  the  cigar  and  careful  attention  to  keep  it  burning 
evenly. 

"So  on  Tuesday  after  Easter  they  go  out  toget'er. 


20  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Colina  Gaviller  ride  on  the  sledge  and  Michel  he  break 
.trail  ahead.  Come  to  the  bench,  leave  the  dogs  in  a 
shelter  Michel  build  in  a  poplar  bluff.  Michel  go  to  see 
his  traps,  and  Colina  walk  away  on  her  snowshoes  wit' 
her  little  gun. 

"Michel  not  ver'  good  lok  that  day.  In  his  first  trap 
find  fool-hen  catch  herself.  He  is  mad.  Second  trap 
is  little  cross-fox;  third  trap  nothin'  'tall! 

"Come  to  fourth  trap,  wa !  see  somesing  black  on 
the  snow !  Wa  !  Wa !  Him  heart  j  omp  up !  Think 
him  got  black  fox  sure !  But  no !  It  is  too  big.  Come 
close  and  look.  What  is  he  catch  you  think?  It  is  a 
black  bear! 

"Everybody  know  some  tarn  a  bear  wake  up  too 
soon  in  winter  and  come  out  of  his  hole  and  roll 
aroun'  lak  he  was  drunk.  He  can't  find  somesing  to  eat 
nowhere,  and  don'  know  what  to  do ! 

"This  bear  him  catch  his  paw  in  Michel's  little  fox 
trap.  It  was  chain  to  a  little  tree.  Bear  too  weak 
to  pull  his  paw  out  or  break  the  chain.  He  lie  down 
lak  dead. 

"Michel  him  ver'  mad.  Him  think  got  no  lok  at 
all  after  Easter.  Fjor  'cause  that  bear  is  poor  as  a 
bird  out  of  the  egg.  Michel  mak'  a  noise  to  wake  him 
up.  But  always  he  lie  still  lak  dead.  Michel  think 
all  right. 

"Bam-by  he  lean  over  with  his  knife.  Wa !  Bear 
jomp  up  lak  he  was  burn  wit*  fire!  Little  chain  break 
and  before  Michel  can  tak  a  breath,  bear  fetch  him 
a  crack  with  the  steel  trap  acrost  his  head ! 

"Wa!  Wa!  Michel's  forehead  is  bus'  open  from 
here  to  here  lak  that!  Michel  drop  his  knife  in  the 
snow.  Him  get  ver'  sick.  Warm  blood  run  all  down 
his  eyes,  and  he  can't  see  not'ing  no  more. 

"Bear  grab  Michel  round  his  body  and  squeeze  him 
pretty  near  till  his  eyes  jomp  out.  Michel  say  a 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  21 

little  prayer  then.  Him  say  him  awful  sorry  he  ain't 
confessed  this  year. 

"But  always  he  fight  that  bear  and  fight  some  more. 
Always  he  is  try  get  his  hands  aroun'  that  hairy  throat. 
Bear  tear  Michel's  shoulder  with  his  teeth.  Michel 
feel  the  hot  blood  run  down  inside  his  shirt  and  get 
cold. 

"Michel,  him  always  thinkin'  Colina  is  not  far, 
but  he  will  not  call  to  her.  She  is  only  a  girl  him 
say;  she  can't  do  not'ing  to  a  crazy  bear.  Bear  hurt 
her  too,  maybe,  and  John  Gaviller  is  mad  for  that. 

"So  Michel  he  jus'  fight.  He  is  ver'  tire'  now.  And 
always  they  stamping  and  tumbling  and  rolling  in  the 
snow,  and  big  red  spots  drop  all  aroun'. 

"Colina,  she  tell  me  the  end  of  it.  Colina  say  she 
is  walkin'  sof'  in  the  poplar  bush  looking  sharp  and 
all  tarn  listen  for  game.  All  is  ver'  quiet  in  the  bush. 

"Bam-by  she  hear  a  fonny  little  noise  way  off. 
Twigs  crackling,  and  somesing  bumping  and  tromping 
in  the  snow.  Colina  think  it  is  big  game  and  go  quick. 
Some  tarn  she  stop  and  listen.  Bam-by  she  hear  fonny 
snarling  and  grunting.  She  know  there  is  a  fight  and 
she  is  a  little  scare.  But  she  go  more  fas*. 

"Wa !  Wa !  What  a  sight  she  see  there !  Poor 
Michel  he  pretty  near  done.  She  can't  see  his  face  no 
more  for  blood.  She  think  he  got  no  face  now.  Michel 
he  see  her  come,  and  say  to  her  loud  as  he  can:  'Go 
way !  Go  way !  You  get  hurt  and  John  Gaviller  give 
me  hell!' 

"Colina  say  not  know  what  to  do.  Them  two  turn 
around  so  fas'  she  'fraid  to  shoot.  She  run  aroun'  and 
aroun'  them  always  looking  for  a  chance.  Bam-by  she 
see  the  handle  of  Michel's  knife  in  a  hole  in  the  snow. 
She  grab  it  up.  She  watch  her  chance.  Woof!  She 
stick  that  bear  between  the  neck  and  the  shoulder ! 

"That  is  all!"  said  Poly.  "Bear,  him  grunt  and  fall 
down.  Stick  his  snoot  in  the  snow.  Michel  crawl 


22  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

away.  Colina  is  fall  down  too  and  cry  lak  a  baby. 
For  a  little  while  all  three  are  dead! 

"Then  Colina  wash  his  wounds  with  clean  snow,  and 
tear  up  her  petticoat  for  to  mak'  bandage.  She  put 
him  on  his  snowshoes  and  drag  him  back  where  the 
dogs  is.  She  bring  him  quick  to  the  fort.  In  one 
week  Michel  is  go  to  his  traps  same  as  ever.  That 
is  the  story!" 

"By  God,  there's  a  woman!"  cried  Peter.  Ambrose 
said  nothing. 

When  Poly  Goussard  reembarked  in  his  dug-out  a 
heavy  constraint  fell  upon  the  two  partners. 

Ambrose  dreaded  to  hear  Peter  call  attention  to  the 
remarkable  coincidence  of  Poly's  story  following  so 
close  upon  their  own  talk  together.  He  suspected  that 
Peter  would  want  to  sit  up  and  thrash  the  matter  to 
conclusions. 

At  the  bare  idea  of  talking  about  it  Ambrose  felt  as 
helpless  and  sullen  as  a  convicted  felon. 

In  this  he  underrated  Peter's  perceptions.  Peter 
had  lived  in  the  woods  for  many  years.  He  intuitively 
apprehended  something  of  the  confusion  in  the  young- 
er man's  mind,  and  he  was  only  anxious  to  let  Ambrose 
understand  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  say  anything 
one  way  or  the  other. 

But  he  overdid  it  a  little,  and  when  Ambrose  saw 
that  Peter  was  "on  to  him,"  as  he  would  have  said, 
he  became  still  more  hang-dog  and  perverse. 

They  parted  at  the  door  of  the  store.  Peter  went 
off  to  his  family,  while  Ambrose  closed  the  door  of  his 
own  little  shack  behind  him,  with  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief. 

Feeling  as  he  did,  it  was  torture  to  be  obliged  to 
support  the  gaze  of  another's  eye,  however  kindly.  So 
urgent  was  his  need  to  be  alone  that  he  even  turned 
his  back  on  his  dog.  For  a  long  time  the  poor  beast 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  23 

softly  scratched  and  whined  at  the  closed  door  un- 
heeded. 

Ambrose  was  busy  inside.  As  it  began  to  grow 
dark  he  lit  his  lamp  and  carefully  pinned  a  heavy  shirt 
inside  his  window  in  lieu  of  a  blind. 

Since  Peter  and  his  family  went  to  bed  with  the 
sun  it  would  be  hard  to  say  whom  he  feared  might 
spy  on  him.  One  listening  at  the  door  might  well  have 
wondered  what  the  activity  inside  portended. 

Later  Ambrose  opened  the  door  and,  putting  the 
dog  in,  proceeded  cautiously  to  the  store.  Satisfying 
himself  from  the  sounds  that  issued  through  the  con- 
necting door  that  Peter  and  his  family  slept  deeply, 
he  lit  a  candle  and  quietly  robbed  the  stock  of  what 
he  required.  Then  he  wrote  a  note  and  pinned  it  be- 
side the  store  door. 

Carrying  the  bundles  back  to  his  cabin,  he  packed 
a  grub-box  and  bore  it  down  to  the  water. 

His  preparations  completed,  he  went  to  his  shack 
to  bid  good-by  to  his  four-footed  pal.  Job,  instantly 
comprehending  that  he  was  to  be  left  behind,  whim- 
pered and  nozzled  so  piteously  that  Ambrose's  heart 
began  to  fail. 

"I  can't  take  you,  old  fel'!"  he  explained.  "You're 
such  a  common-looking  mutt.  Of  course,  I  know  you're 
white  clear  through — but  a  lady  would  laugh  at  you 
until  she  knew  you !" 

Even  as  he  said  it  his  heart  accused  him  of  dis- 
loyalty. He  suddenly  changed  his  mind. 

"Come  on  !"  he  whispered  gruffly.  "We'll  chance  our 
luck  together.  If  you  open  your  head  I'll  brain  you ! 
Wait  here  a  minute." 

Job  understood  perfectly.  He  crept  down  to  the 
lake  shore  at  his  master's  feet  as  quiet  as  a  ghost. 
Seeing  the  loaded  boat  he  hopped  delightedly  into  his 
accustomed  place  in  the  bow. 

During  June  it  never  becomes  wholly  dark  in  the 


24  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

latitude  of  Lake  Miwasa.  An  exquisite  dim  twilight 
brooded  over  the  wide  water  and  the  pine-walled  shore. 
The  stars  sparkled  faintly  in  an  oxidized  silver  sea. 
There  was  no  wind  now,  but  the  pines  breathed  like 
warm-blooded  creatures. 

Ambrose's  breast  hummed  like  a  violin  to  the  bow 
of  night.  The  poetic  feeling  was  there,  though  the  ex- 
pression was  prosaic. 

"By  George,  this  is  fine!"  he  murmured. 

Job's  curly  tail  thumped  the  gunwale  in  answer. 

"I'm  glad  I  brought  you,  old  fel',"  said  Ambrose. 
"I  expect  I'd  go  clean  off  my  head  if  didn't  have 
any  one  to  talk  to!" 

Job  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  side  of  the  boat  and  wrig- 
gled and  whined  in  his  anxiety  to  reach  his  master. 

"Steady  there!"  said  Ambrose. 

Presently  he  went  on:  "Three  hundred  miles!  Six 
days  for  Poly  to  come  with  the  current;  nine  days 
to  go  back!  Fifteen  days  at  the  best!  Anything 
might  happen  in  that  time.  .  .  .  Poly  said  no  danger 
from  any  of  the  men  there.  But  some  one  might  come 
down  the  river!  ...  If  wishing  could  bring  an  aero- 
plane up  north !" 

After  a  silence:  "I  wish  I  could  get  my  best  suit 
pressed!  .  .  .  It's  two  years  old,  anyway.  And  she's 
just  come  in ;  she  knows  the  styles.  .  .  .  Lord,  I'll  look 
like  a  regular  roughneck!" 

Next  morning  when  Peter  Minot  threw  open  the 
door  of  the  store  he  found  the  note  pinned  to  the 
door-frame.  It  was  brief  and  to  the  point  : 

DEAR  PETE: 

You  said  I  ought  to  go  by  myself  till  I  felt  better. 
So  I'm  off.  Don't  expect  me  till  you  see  me.  Charge 
me  with  50  Ibs.  flour,  18  Ibs.  bacon,  20  Ibs.  rice,  10  Ibs. 
sugar,  5  Ibs.  prunes,  ^/2  Mb-  *ea»  Vz  ^°-  baking  powder, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  25 

and  bag  of  salt.  Please  take  care  of  my  dog.  So- 
long!  A.  D. 

P.  S. — I'm  taking  the  dog. 

Peter,  like  all  men  slow  to  anger,  lost  his  temper 
with  startling  effect.  Tearing  the  note  off  the  door 
and  grinding  it  under  foot,  he  cursed  the  runaway 
from  a  full  heart. 

Eva,  hearing,  hastily  called  the  children  indoors, 
and  thrusting  them  behind  her  peeped  into  the  store. 
Peter,  purple  in  the  face,  was  wildly  brandishing  his 
arms. 

Eva  closed  the  door  very  softly  and  gave  the  chil- 
dren bread  and  molasses  to  keep  them  quiet.  Mean- 
while the  storm  continued  to  rage. 

"The  young  fool!  To  run  off  without  a  word! 
I'd  have  let  him  go  gladly  if  he'd  said  anything — and 
given  him  a  good  man !  But  to  go  alone !  He'll  break 
an  arm  and  die  in  the  bush !  And  to  leave  me  like  this 
with  the  year's  outfit  due  next  week ! 

"I'll  not  see  him  again  until  cold  weather — if  I  ever 
see  him !  Fifty  pounds  of  flour — with  his  appetite ! 
He'll  starve  to  death  if  he  doesn't  drown  himself  first ! 
He'll  never  get  to  Enterprise!  Oh,  the  consummate 
young  ass!  Damn  Poly  Goussard  and  his  romantic 
stories !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

COLINA. 

JOHN  CAVILLER  and  Colina  were  at  breakfast  in  the 
big  clap-boarded  villa  at  Fort  Enterprise. 

They  were  a  good-looking  pair,  and  at  heart  not 
dissimilar,  though  it  must  be  taken  into  account  that 
the  same  qualities  manifest  themselves  differently  in 
a  man  of  affairs  and  a  romantic,  irresponsible  young 
woman. 

They  were  secretly  proud  of  each  other — and  quar- 
reled continually.  Colina,  by  virtue  of  her  reckless 
honesty,  frequently  got  the  better  of  her  canny 
father. 

"Well,"  he  said,  now  with  a  gesture  of  surrender,  "if 
you're  determined  to  stay  here,  all  right — but  you 
must  live  differently." 

At  the  word  "must"  an  ominous  gleam  shot  from 
under  Colina's  lashes. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  way  of  living?"  she 
asked  with  deceitful  mildness. 

"This  tearing  around  the  country  on  horseback," 
he  said.  "Going  off  all  day  hunting  with  this  man 
and  that — and  spending  the  night  in  native  cabins. 
As  long  as  I  considered  you  were  here  on  a  visit  I 
said  nothing — " 

"Oh,  didn't  you!"  murmured  Colina  sarcastically. 

" — But  if  you  are  going  to  make  this  country 
your  home,  you  must  consider  your  reputation  in  the 
community  just  the  same  as  anywhere  else — more,  in- 
deed; we  live  in  a  tiny  little  world  here,  where  our 
smallest  actions  are  scrutinized  and  discussed!" 

26 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  27 

He  took  a  swallow  of  coffee.  Colina  played  with 
her  food  sulkily. 

Her  silence  encouraged  him  to  proceed:  "Another 
thing,"  he  said  with  a  deprecating  smile,  "compara- 
tively speaking,  I  occupy  an  exalted  position  now.  I 
am  the  head  of  all  things,  such  as  they  are.  Great 
or  small  this  entails  certain  obligations  on  a  man.  I 
have  to  study  all  my  words  and  acts. 

"If  you  are  going  to  stay  here  with  me  I  shall 
expect  you  to  assume  your  share;  to  consider  my 
interests,  to  support  me;  to  play  the  game  as  they 
say.  What  I  object  to  is  your  impulsiveness,  your 
outspokenness  with  the  people.  Remember,  everybody 
here  is  your  dependent.  It  is  always  a  mistake  to  be 
open  and  frank  with  dependents.  They  don't  under- 
stand it,  and  if  they  do,  they  presume  upon  it. 

"Be  guided  by  my  experience;  no  one  could  justly 
accuse  me  of  any  lack  of  affability  or  friendliness  in 
dealing  with  the  people  here — but  they  never  know 
what  I  am  thinking  of!" 

"Admirable!"  murmured  Colina,  "but  I'm  not  a  di- 
rectors' meeting!" 

"Colina !"  said  her  father  indignantly. 

"It's  not  fair  for  you  to  drag  that  in  about  my 
standing  by  you  and  supporting  you!"  she  went  on 
warmly.  "You  know  I'll  do  that  as  long  as  I  live ! 
But  I  must  be  allowed  to  do  it  in  my  own  way.  I'm 
an  adult  and  an  individual.  I  differ  from  you.  I've 
a  right  to  differ  from  you.  It  is  because  these  people 
are  my  inferiors  that  I  can  afford  to  be  perfectly  nat- 
ural with  them.  As  for  their  presuming  on  it,  you 
needn't  fear !  I  know  how  to  take  care  of  that !" 

"A  little  more  reserve,"  murmured  her  father. 

Colina  paused  and  looked  at  him  levelly.  "Dad, 
what  a  fool  you  are  about  me!"  she  said  coolly. 

"Colina !"  he  cried  again,  and  pounded  the  table. 

She  met  his  indignant  glance  squarely. 


28  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"I  mean  it,"  she  said.  "I'm  your  daughter,  am  I 
not? — and  mother's?  You  must  know  yourself  by  this 
time;  you  must  have  known  mother — you  ought  to 
understand  me  a  little  but  you  won't  try — you're 
clever  enough  in  everything  else!  You've  made  up  an 
idea  for  yourself  of  what  a  daughter  ought  to  be, 
and  you're  always  trying  to  make  me  fit  it!" 

Gaviller  scarcely  listened  to  this.  "I'll  have  to  bring 
in  a  chaperon  for  you!"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  Lord !"  groaned  Colina.  "Anything  but  that ! 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Merely  to  live  like  other  girls,"  said  Gaviller; 
"to  observe  the  proprieties." 

"That's  why  I  couldn't  get  along  at  school,"  mut- 
tered Colina  gloomily.  "You  might  as  well  send  me 
back." 

"You're  simply  headstrong!"  said  her  father  se- 
verely. "You  won't  try  to  be  different." 

"Dad,"  said  Colina  suddenly,  "what  did  you  come 
north  for  in  the  first  place,  thirty  years  ago?" 

The  question  caught  him  a  little  off  his  guard.  "A 
natural  love  of  adventure,  I  suppose,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. 

"Perfectly  natural!"  said  Colina.  "Was  your  father' 
pleased  ?" 

Gaviller  began  to  see  her  drift.  "No!"  he  said 
testily. 

"And  when  you  went  back  for  her,"  Colina  persisted, 
"didn't  my  mother  run  away  north  with  you,  against 
the  wishes  of  her  parents?" 

"Your  mother  was  a  saint!"  cried  Gaviller  indig- 
nantly. 

"Certainly,"  said  Colina  coolly,  "but  not  the  psalm- 
singing  kind.  What  do  you  expect  of  the  child  of  such 
a  couple?" 

"Not  another  word !"  cried  Gaviller,  banging  the 
table — last  refuge  of  outraged  fathers. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  29 

Colina  was  unimpressed.  "Now  you're  simply  rais- 
ing a  dust  to  conceal  the  issue,"  she  said  relentlessly. 

Gaviller  chewed  his  mustache  in  offended  silence. 

Colina  did  not  spare  him.  "Do  you  think  you  can 
make  your  child  and  hers  into  a  prim  miss,  to  sit  at 
home  and  work  embroidery?"  she  demanded.  "Upon 
my  word,  if  I  were  a  boy  I  believe  you'd  suggest  put- 
ting me  in  a  bank !" 

John  Gaviller  helped  himself  to  another  egg  with 
great  dignity  and  removed  the  top.  "Don't  be  absurd, 
Colina,"  he  said  with  a  weary  air. 

It  was  a  transparent  assumption.  Colina  saw  that 
she  had  reduced  him  utterly.  She  smiled  winningly. 
"Dad,  if  you'd  only  let  me  be  myself!  We  could  be 
such  pals  if  you  wouldn't  try  to  play  the  heavy 
father !" 

"Is  it  being  yourself  to  act  like  a  harum-scarum 
tomboy?"  inquired  Gaviller  sarcastically. 

Colina  laughed.  "Yes !"  she  said  boldly.  "If  that's 
what  you  want  to  call  it?  There's  something  in  me," 
she  went  on  seriously.  "I  don't  know  what  it  is — some 
wild  strain ;  something  that  drives  me  headlong ;  makes 
me  see  red  when  I  am  balked!  Maybe  it  is  just  too 
much  physical  energy. 

"Well,  if  you  let  me  work  it  off  it  does  no  harm.  If 
I  can  ride  all  day,  or  paddle  or  swim,  or  go  hunting 
with  Michel  or  one  of  the  others;  and  be  interested  in 
what  I'm  doing,  and  come  home  tired  and  sleep  with- 
out dreaming — why  everything  is  all  right.  But  if  you 
insist  on  cooping  me  up ! — well,  I'm  likely  to  turn  out 
something  worse  than  harum-scarum,  that's  all!" 

Gaviller  flung  up  his  arms. 

"Really,  you'll  have  to  go  back  to  your  aunt,"  he 
said  grimly.  "The  responsibility  of  looking  after 
you  is  too  great!" 

Colina  laughed  out  of  sheer  vexation.  "The  silly 
ideas  fathers  have!"  she  cried.  "Nobody  can  look 


30  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

after  me,  not  you,  not  my  aunt,  nobody  but  myself! 
Why  won't  you  understand  that !  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  dangers  you  fancy  are  threatening  me.  If  it  is 
from  men,  be  at  ease !  I  can  put  the  fear  of  God  into 
them!  It  is  the  sweet  and  gentle  girl  you  would  like 
to  have  that  is  in  danger  there !" 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  go  back,"  said  Gaviller. 

Colina  drew  her  beautiful  straight  brows  together. 
"You  make  me  think  you  simply  want  to  get  me  off 
your  hands,"  she  said  sullenly. 

Gaviller  shook  his  head.  "You  know  I  love  to  have 
you  with  me,"  he  said  simply. 

"Then  consider  me  a  fixture!"  said  Colina  serenely. 
"This  is  my  country !"  she  went  on  enthusiastically. 
"It  suits  me.  I  like  its  uglinesses  and  its  hardships, 
too !  I  hated  it  in  the  city.  l3o  you  know  what  they 
called  me? — the  wild  Highlander! 

"Up  here  everybody  understands  my  wildness,  and 
thinks  none  the  worse  of  me.  It  was  different  in  .the 
city — you've  always  lived  in  the  north,  you  old  inno- 
cent— you  don't  know!  Men,  for  instance,  in  society 
they  have  a  curious  logic.  They  seem  to  think  if  a 
girl  is  natural  she  must  be  bad!  Sometimes  they 
acted  on  that  assumption — " 

"What  did  I  tell  you !"  cried  her  father.  "Men  are 
the  same  everywhere!" 

"Well,"  said  Colina,  smiling  to  herself,  "they  didn't 
get  very  far.  And  no  man  ever  tried  it  twice.  Up 
here — how  different.  I  don't  have  to  think  of  such 
things." 

"I  have  to  think  of  settling  you  in  life,"  said  Ga- 
viller gloomily.  "There  is  no  one  for  you  up  here." 

"I'm  not  bothering  my  head  about  that,"  said 
Colina.  She  went  on  with  a  kind  of  splendid  insolence : 
"Every  man  wants  me.  I'll  choose  one  when  I'm  ready. 
I  can't  see  anything  in  men  except  as  comrades.  The 
decent  ones  are  timid  with  women,  and  the  bold  ones 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  31 

are — well — rather  beastly.  I'm  looking  for  a  man 
who's  brave  and  decent,  too.  If  there's  no  such 
thing—" 

She  rose  from  the  table.  Colina's  was  a  body  de- 
signed to  fill  a  riding-habit,  and  she  wore  one  from 
morning  till  night.  She  was  as  tall  as  a  man  of  middle 
height,  and  her  tawny  hair  piled  on  top  of  her  head 
made  her  seem  taller. 

"Well?"  said  Gaviller. 

"Oh,  I'll  choose  the  handsomest  beast  I  can  find," 
she  said,  laughing  over  her  shoulder  and  escaping  from 
the  room  before  he  could  answer. 

John  Gaviller  finished  his  egg  with  a  frown.  Colina 
had  this  trick  of  breaking  things  off  in  the  middle, 
and  it  irritated  him.  He  had  an  orderly  mind. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  MEETING. 

COLINA  groomed  her  own  horse,  whistling  like  a  boy. 
Saddling  him,  she  rode  east  along  the  trail  by  the 
river,  with  the  fenced  grain  fields  on  her  right  hand. 

Beyond  the  fields  she  could  gallop  at  will  over  the 
rolling,  grassy  bottoms,  among  the  patches  of  scrub 
and  willow. 

It  was  not  an  impressively  beautiful  scene — the  river 
was  half  a  mile  wide,  broken  by  flat  wooded  islands  over- 
flowed at  high  water;  the  banks  were  low,  and  at  this 
season  muddy.  But  the  sky  was  as  blue  as  Colina's 
eyes,  and  the  prairie,  quilted  with  wild  flowers,  basked 
in  the  delicate  radiance  that  only  the  northern  sun 
can  bestow. 

On  a  horse  Colina  could  not  be  actively  unhappy, 
nevertheless  she  was  conscious  of  a  certain  dissatis- 
faction with  life.  Not  as  a  result  of  the  discussion  with 
her  father — she  felt  she  had  come  off  rather  well 
from  that. 

But  it  was  warm,  and  she  felt  a  touch  of  languor. 
Fort  Enterprise  was  a  little  dull  in  early  summer.  The 
fur  season  was  over,  and  the  flour  mill  was  closed; 
the  Indians  had  gone  to  their  summer  camps ;  and  the 
steamboat  had  lately  departed  on  her  first  trip  up 
river,  taking  most  of  the  company  employees  in  her 
crew. 

There  was  nothing  afoot  just  now  but  farming,  and 
Colina  was  not  much  interested  in  that.  In  short,  she 
was  lonesome.  She  rode  idly  with  long  detours  inland 
in  search  of  nothing  at  all. 

Loping  over  the  grass  and  threading  her  way 

32 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  S3 

among  the  poplar  saplings,  Colina  proceeded  farther 
than  she  had  ever  been  in  this  direction  since  summer 
set  in. 

She  saw  the  painter's  brush  for  the  first  time— that 
exquisite  rose  of  the  prairies — and  instantly  dismount- 
ed to  gather  a  bunch  to  thrust  in  her  belt.  The  deli- 
cate, ashy  pink  of  the  flower  matched  the  color  in  her 
cheeks. 

On  her  rides  Colina  was  accustomed  to  dismount 
when  she  chose,  and  Ginger,  her  sorrel  gelding,  would 
crop  the  grass  contentedly  until  she  was  ready  to 
mount  again.  To-day  the  spring  must  have  been  in 
his  blood,  too. 

When  Colina  went  to  him  he  tossed  his  head  co- 
quettishly,  and  trotting  away  a  few  steps,  turned 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  droll  air.  Colina  called  him 
in  dulcet  tones,  and  held  out  an  inviting  hand. 

Ginger  waywardly  wagged  his  head  and  danced 
with  his  forefeet. 

This  was  repeated  several  times — Colina's  voice  ever 
growing  more  honeyed  as  the  rose  in  her  cheeks  deep- 
ened. The  inevitable  happened — she  lost  her  temper 
and  stamped  her  foot;  whereupon  Ginger,  with  lifted 
tail,  ran  around  her  like  a  circus  horse. 

Colina,  alternately  cajoling  and  commanding,  pur- 
sued him  bootlessly.  Fond  as  she  was  of  exercise,  she 
preferred  having  the  horse  use  his  legs.  She  sat  down 
in  the  grass  and  cried  a  little  out  of  sheer  impotence. 

Ginger  resumed  his  interrupted  meal  on  the  grass 
with  insulting  unconcern.  Colina  was  twelve  miles 
from  home — and  hungry. 

Desperately  casting  her  eyes  around  the  horizon 
to  discover  some  way  out  of  her  dilemma,  Colina  per- 
ceived a  thin  spiral  of  smoke  rising  above  the  edge  of 
the  river  bank  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

She  had  no  idea  who  could  be  camping  on  the  river 
at  this  place,  but  she  instantly  set  off  with  her  own 


M  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

confident  assurance  of  finding  aid.  Ginger  displayed 
no  inclination  to  leave  the  particular  patch  of  prairie 
grass  he  had  chosen  for  his  luncheon. 

As  Colina  approached  the  edge  of  the  bank  she 
heard  a  voice.  She  herself  made  no  sound  in  the  grass. 

Looking  over  the  edge  she  saw  a  man  and  a  dog 
on  the  stony  beach  below,  both  with  their  backs  to  her 
and  oblivious  of  her  approach.  Of  the  man,  she  had 
a  glimpse  only  of  a  broad  blue  flannel  back  and  a  mop 
of  black  hair. 

She  heard  him  say  to  the  dog :  "Our  last  meal  alone, 
old  fel' !  To-night,  if  we're  lucky,  we'll  dine  with 
her!" 

This  conveyed  nothing  to  Colina — she  was  to  re- 
member it  later. 

In  speaking  he  turned  his  profile,  and  she  received 
an  agreeable  shock;  he  was  young;  he  was  not  com- 
mon; he  had  a  fair,  pink  skin  that  contrasted  oddly 
with  his  swarthy  locks;  his  bold  profile  accorded  with 
her  fancy. 

What  caught  her  off  her  guard  was  his  affectionate, 
quizzical  glance  at  the  dog. 

It  was  a  seductive  glimpse  of  a  stern  face  softened. 

The  dog  scented  her  and  barked;  the  man  turning 
sprang  to  his  feet.  Colina  experienced  a  sudden  and 
extraordinary  confusion  of  her  faculties. 

He  was  taller  than  she  expected — that  was  not  it ;  in 
the  glance  of  his  eager  dark  eyes  there  was  a  quality 
that  took  her  completely  by  surprise — that  took  her 
breath  away.  This  in  one  of  the  sex  she  condescended 
to! 

The  young  man  was  completely  dumfounded  by  the 
sight  of  her.  He  hung  in  suspended  motion ;  his  wide 
eyes  leaped  to  hers — and  clung  there.  They  silently 
gazed  at  each  other — each  with  much  the  same  pained 
and  breathless  look. 

Colina  struggled  hard  against  the  spell.     She  was 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  35 

badly  flustered.  "Please  catch  my  horse  for  me,"  she 
said  with,  under  the  circumstances,  intolerable  hau- 
teur. 

He  did  not  move.  She  saw  a  dull,  red  tide  creep  up 
from  his  neck,  over  his  face  and  into  his  hair.  She 
had  never  seen  such  a  painful  blush.  He  kept  his  head 
up,  and  though  his  eyes  became  agonized  with  em- 
barrassment, they  clung  doggedly  to  hers. 

She  knew  intuitively  that  he  blushed  because  he  fan- 
cied that  she,  from  his  rough  clothes,  had  judged  him 
to  be  a  common  tramp. 

She  was  glad  of  it — his  blush  gave  her  a  little  se- 
curity. 

But  she  could  not  support  his  glance.  She  all  but 
stamped  her  foot  as  she  said:  "Didn't  you  hear  me?" 

With  a  visible  effort  the  young  man  collected  his 
wits,  and  with  unsmiling  face  started  to  climb  toward 
Colina.  The  dog,  making  to  follow  him,  he  spoke  a 
word  of  command  and  it  returned  to  the  boat.  Face 
to  face  with  him  Colina  felt  as  if  his  glowing  dark 
eyes  were  burning  holes  in  her. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  asked  soberly. 

Colina  merely  pointed  across  the  bottoms  where  Gin- 
ger could  be  seen  still  busy  with  the  grass. 

"I'll  bring  him  to  you,"  he  said  coolly,  and  started 
off. 

His  assurance  exasperated  Colina.  "It  isn't  as  easy 
as  you  think,"  she  said  haughtily,  "or  I  shouldn't  have 
asked  for  help !" 

He  turned  his  head,  his  face  suddenly  breaking  into 
a  beaming  smile.  "I  know  horses,"  he  said. 

Colina  was  furious.  He  made  her  feel  like  a  little 
girl.  She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  in  the  undignified  an- 
swer that  sprang  to  them.  Inside  her  she  said  it: 
"Smarty!  I  shall  laugh  when  lie  leads  you  a  chase!" 
She  sat  down  in  the  grass  under  a  poplar-tree,  prepared 
to  enjoy  the  circus  from  afar. 


36  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

There  was  none.  Ginger  having  tired  of  his  way- 
wardness, perhaps,  or  having  eaten  his  fill,  quietly  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  taken.  The  young  man  came  rid- 
ing back  on  him.  Colina  could  almost  have  wept  with 
mortification. 

He  slipped  out  of  the  saddle  beside  her  and  stood 
waiting  for  her  to  mount.  There  was  no  consciousness 
of  triumph  in  his  manner. 

His  eyes  flew  back  to  hers  with  the  same  extraordi- 
narily nai've  glance.  When  Colina  frowned  under  it  he 
literally  dragged  them  away,  but  in  spite  of  him  they 
soon  returned. 

Many  a  man's  eyes  had  been  offered  to  Colina,  but 
never  a  pair  that  glowed  with  a  fire  like  this.  They 
were  at  the  same  time  bold  and  humble.  They  con- 
tained an  imploring  appeal  without  any,  sacrifice  of 
self-respect.  They  disturbed  Colina  to  such  a  degree 
she  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  doing. 

He  offered  her  a  hand  to  mount,  and  she  drew 
back  with  an  offended  air.  He  instantly  yielded,  and 
she  mounted  unaided — mounted  awkwardly,  and  bit  her 
lip  again. 

He  did  not  immediately  loose  her  rein.  Out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye  Colina  saw  that  he  was  breathing 
fast. 

"It  will  be  late  before  you  get  home,"  he  said.  His 
voice  was  very  low — she  could  feel  the  effort  he  was 
making  not  to  let  it  shake.  "Will  you — will  you  eat 
with  me?" 

The  modest  tendering  of  this  bold  invitation  dis- 
armed Colina.  She  hesitated.  He  went  on  with  a 
touch  of  boyish  eagerness:  "There's  only  a  traveler's 
grub,  of  course.  I  got  a  fish  on  a  night-line  this 
morning.  Also  there's  a  prairie  chicken  roasted  yes- 
terday." 

A  self-deceiving  argument  ran  through  Colina's  brain 
like  quick-silver:  "If  I  go,  I  shall  be  tormented  by  the 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  37 

feeling  that  he  got  the  best  of  me;  if  I  stay  a  while 
I  can  put  him  in  his  place !" 

She  dismounted.  The  young  man  turned  abruptly 
to  tie  Ginger  to  the  poplar-tree,  but  even  in  the  boun- 
dary of  his  cheek  Colina  read  his  beaming  happiness. 

With  scarcely  another  glance  at  her  he  plunged 
down  the  bank  and  set  to  work  over  his  fire.  Colina 
sedately  followed  and  seated  herself  on  a  boulder  to 
wait  until  she  should  be  served. 

Now  that  he  no  longer  looked  at  her,  Colina  could 
not  help  watching  him.  A  dangerous  softness  began 
to  work  in  her  breast ;  he  was  so  boyish,  so  clumsy,  so 
anxious  to  entertain  her  fittingly — his  unconsciousness 
of  her  nearness  was  such  a  transparent  assumption. 

Colina  was  alarmed  by  her  own  weakness.  She  looked 
resolutely  at  the  dog. 

He  was  a  mongrel  black  and  tan,  bigger  than  a  ter- 
rier, and  he  had  a  ridiculous  curly  tail.  He  had  re- 
ceived her  with  an  insulting  air  of  indifference. 

"What  an  ugly  dog!"  Colina  said  coolly. 

The  young  man  swung  around  and  affectionately 
rubbed  the  dog's  ear. 

"The  best  sporting  dog  in  Athabasca,"  he  said 
promptly,  but  without  any  resentment. 

Colina  bit  her  lip  again.  It  seemed  as  if  every- 
thing she  did  was  mean.  "Of  course  his  looks  haven't 
anything  to  do  with  his  good  qualities,"  she  said. 
Here  she  was  apologizing. 

"He's  almost  human,"  said  the  young  man.  "I  talk 
to  him  like  a  person." 

"Come  here,  dog,"  said  Colina. 

The  animal  was  suddenly  stricken  with  deafness. 

"What's  his  name?"  she  asked. 

"Job." 

"Come  here,  Job!"  said  Colina  coaxingly. 

Job  looked  out  across  the  river. 

"Job!"  said  his  master  sternly. 


38  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  dog  sprang  to  him  as  if  they  had  been  parted 
for  years,  and  frantically  licked  his  hand.  This  dis- 
play of  boundless  affection  was  suspiciously  self-con- 
scious. 

The  young  man  led  him  to  Colina's  feet.  "Mind 
your  manners !"  he  commanded. 

Job  in  utter  abasement  offered  her  a  limp  paw. 
'She  touched  it,  and  he  scampered  back  to  his  former 
place  with  an  air  of  relief,  and  turning  his  back  to 
her  lay  down  again.  It  cannot  be  said  that  his  en- 
forced obedience  made  her  feel  any  better. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN    INVITATION    TO    DINE. 

LUNCH  was  not  long  in  preparing,  for  the  rice  had 
been  on  the  fire  when  Colina  first  appeared.  The  young 
man  set  forth  the  meal  as  temptingly  as  he  could  on  a 
flat  rock,  and  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his  sinews  car- 
ried another  rock  for  Colina  to  sit  upon.  His  apolo- 
gies for  the  discrepancies  in  the  service  disarmed  Colina 
again. 

"I  am  no  fine  lady,"  she  said.  "I  know  what  it  is 
to  live  out." 

Colina  was  hungry  and  the  food  good.  A  good 
understanding  rapidly  established  itself  between  them. 
But  the  young  man  made  no  move  to  serve  himself.  In- 
deed he  sat  at  the  other  side  of  the  rock-table  and 
produced  his  pipe. 

"Why  don't  you  eat?"  demanded  Colina. 

"There  is  plenty  of  time,"  he  said,  blushing. 

"But  why  wait?" 

"Well — there's  only  one  knife  and  fork." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Colina  coolly.  "We  can  pass 
them  back  and  forth — can't  we?" 

Starting  up  and  dropping  the  pipe  in  his  pocket  he 
flashed  a  look  of  extraordinary  rapture  on  her  that 
brought  Colina's  eyelids  fluttering  down  like  winged 
birds.  He  was  a  disconcerting  young  man.  Resent- 
ment moved  her,  but  she  couldn't  think  of  anything  to 
say. 

They  ate  amicably,  passing  the  utensils  back  and 
forth. 

After  a  while  Colina  asked:  "Do  you  know  who  I 
am?" 

39 


40  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Of  course,"  he  said.     "Miss  Colina  Gaviller." 

"I  don't  know  you,"  she  said. 

"I   am  Ambrose   Doane,   of   Moultrie." 

"Where  is  Moultrie?" 

"On  Lake  Miwasa — three  hundred  miles  down  the 
river.'* 

"Three  hundred  miles !"  exclaimed  Colina.  "Have 
you  come  so  far  alone?" 

"I  have  Job,"  Ambrose  said  with  a  smile. 

"How  much  farther  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"Only  to  Fort  Enterprise." 

"Oh !"  she  said.  The  question  in  the  air  was :  "What 
did  you  come  for?"  Both  felt  it. 

"Do  you  know  my  father?"  Colina  asked. 

"No,"  said  Ambrose. 

"I  suppose  you  have  business  with  him?" 

"No,"  he  said  again. 

Colina  glanced  at  him  with  a  shade  of  annoyance. 
"We  don't  have  many  visitors  in  the  summer,"  she  said 
carelessly. 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Ambrose  simply. 

Colina  was  a  woman — and  an  impulsive  one;  it  was 
bound  to  come  sooner  or  later:  "What  did  you  come 
for?" 

His  eyes  pounced  on  hers  with  the  same  look  of 
mixed  boldness  and  apprehension  that  she  had  marked 
before;  she  saw  that  he  caught  his  breath  before  an- 
swering. 

"To  see  you !"  he  said. 

Colina  saw  it  coming,  and  would  have  given  worlds 
to  have  recalled  the  question.  She  blushed  all  over — 
a  horrible,  unequivocal,  burning  blush.  She  hated 
herself  for  blushing — and  hated  him  for  making  her. 

"Upon  my  word!"  she  stammered.  It  was  all  she 
could  get  out. 

He  did  not  triumph  over  her  discomfiture;  his  eyes 
were  cast  down,  and  his  hand  trembled.  Colina  could 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  41 

not  tell  whether  he  were  more  bold  or  simple.  She  had 
a  sinking  fear  that  here  was  a  young  man  capable  of 
setting  all  her  maxims  on  men  at  naught.  She  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  him. 

"What  do  you  know  about  me?"  she  demanded. 

It  sounded  feeble  in  her  own  ears.  She  felt  that 
whatever  she  might  say  he  was  marching  steadily  over 
her  defenses.  Somehow,  everything  that  he  said  made 
them  more  intimate. 

"There  was  a  fellow  from  here  came  by  our  place," 
said  Ambrose  simply.  "Poly  Goussard.  He  told  us 
about  you — " 

"Talked  about  me!"  cried  Colina  stormily. 

"You  should  have  heard  what  he  said,"  said  Am- 
brose with  his  venturesome,  diffident  smile.  "He  thinks 
you  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world !"  Am- 
brose's eyes  added  that  he  agreed  with  Poly. 

It  was  impossible  for  Colina  to  be  angry  at  this, 
though  she  wished  to  be.  She  maintained  a  haughty 
silence. 

Ambrose  faltered  a  little. 

"I — I  haven't  talked  to  a  white  girl  in  a  year,"  he 
said.  "This  is  our  slack  season — so  I — I  came  to  see 
you." 

If  Colina  had  been  a  man  this  was  very  like  what 
she  might  have  said — to  meet  with  candor  equal  to  her 
own  in  the  other  sex,  however,  took  all  the  wind  out 
of  her  sails. 

"How  dare  you !"  she  murmured,  conscious  of  sound- 
ing ridiculous. 

Ambrose  cast  down  his  eyes.  "I  have  not  said  any- 
thing insulting,"  he  said  doggedly.  "After  what  Poly 
said  it  was  natural  for  me  to  want  to  come  and  see 
you." 

"In  the  slack  season,"  she  murmured  sarcastically. 

"I  couldn't  have  come  in  the  winter,"  he  said  naively. 

Colina  despised  herself  for  disputing  with  him.    She 


42  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

knew  she  ought  to  have  left  at  once — but  she  was 
unable  to  think  of  a  sufficiently  telling  remark  to  cov- 
er a  dignified  retreat. 

"You  are  presumptuous !"  she  said  haughtily. 

"Presumptuous?"  he  repeated  with  a  puzzled  air. 

She  decided  that  he  was  more  simple  than  bold.  "I 
mean  that  men  do  not  say  such  things  to  women," 
she  began  as  one  might  rebuke  a  little  boy — but  the 
conclusion  was  lamentable,  "to  women  to  whom  they 
have  not  even  been  introduced!" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I'm  sorry!  I  can  only  stay  a  few 
days.  I  wanted  to  get  acquainted  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible." 

A  still  small  voice  whispered  to  Colina  that  this 
was  a  young  man  after  her  own  heart.  Aloud  she  re- 
marked languidly :  "How  about  me  ?  Perhaps  I  am 
not  so  anxious." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  not  quite  knowing  how 
to  take  this.  "Really  he  is  too  simple!"  thought  Co- 
lina. 

"Of  course  I  knew  I  would  have  to  take  my  chance," 
he  said.  "I  didn't  expect  you  to  be  waiting  on  the 
bank  with  a  brass  band  and  a  wreath  of  flowers !" 

He  smiled  so  boyishly  that  Colina,  in  spite  of  her- 
self, was  obliged  to  smile  back.  Suddenly  the  absurd 
image  caused  them  to  burst  out  laughing  simultaneous- 
ly— and  Colina  felt  herself  lost. 

Laughter  was  as  dangerous  as  a  train  of  gunpow- 
der. Even  while  he  laughed  Colina  saw  that  look  spring 
out  of  his  eyes — the  mysterious  look  that  made  her 
feel  faint  and  helpless. 

He  leaned  toward  her  and  a  still  more  candid  avowal 
trembled  on  his  lips.  Colina  saw  it  coming.  Her  look 
of  panic-terror  restrained  him.  He  closed  his  mouth 
firmly  and  turned  away  his  head. 

Presently  he  offered  her  a  breast  of  prairie  chicken 
with  a  matter-of-fact  air.  She  shook  her  head,  and 
a  silence  fell  between  them — a  terrible  silence. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  43 

"Oh,  why  don't  I  go !"  thought  Colina  despairingly. 

It  was  Ambrose  who  eased  the  tension  by  saying  com- 
fortably: "It's  a  great  experience  to  travel  alone. 
Your  senses  seem  to  be  more  alert — you  take  in  more." 

He  went  on  to  tell  her  about  his  trip,  and  Colina 
lulled  to  security  almost  before  she  knew  it  was  re- 
counting her  own  journey  in  the  preceding  autumn.  It 
was  astonishing  when  they  stuck  to  ordinary  matters 
— how  like  old  friends  they  felt.  Things  did  not  need 
to  be  explained. 

It  provided  Colina  with  a  good  opportunity  to  re- 
tire. She  rose. 

Ambrose's  face  fell  absurdly.  "Must  you  go?"  he 
said. 

"I  suppose  I  will  meet  you  officially — later,"  she 
said. 

He  raised  a  pair  of  perplexed  eyes  to  her  face.  "I 
never  thought  about  an  introduction,"  he  said  quite 
humbly.  "You  see  we  never  had  any  ladies  up  here." 

In  the  light  of  his  uncertainty  Colina  felt  more 
assured.  "Oh,  we're  sufficiently  introduced  by  this 
time,"  she  said  offhand. 

"But— what  should  I  do  at  the  fort?"  he  asked. 
"How  can  I  see  you  again?" 

She  smiled  with  a  touch  of  scorn  at  his  simplicity. 
"That  is  for  you  to  contrive.  You  will  naturally  call 
on  my  father;  if  he  likes  you,  he  will  bring  you  home 
to  dinner." 

Ambrose  smiled  with  obscure  meaning.  "He  will 
never  do  that,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Colina. 

"My  partner  and  I  are  free-traders,"  he  explained; 
"the  only  free-traders  of  any  account  in  the  Company's 
territory.  Naturally  they  are  bitter  against  us." 

"But  business  is  one  thing  and  hospitality  another," 
said  Colina. 

"You  do  not  know  what  hard  feeling  there  is  in 
the  fur  trade,"  he  suggested. 


44  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"You  do  not  know  my  father,"  she  retorted. 

"Only  by  reputation,"  said  Ambrose. 

The  shade  of  meaning  in  his  voice  was  not  lost  on 
her.  Her  cheeks  became  warm.  "All  white  men  who 
come  to  the  post  dine  with  us  as  a  matter  of  course," 
she  said.  "We  owe  you  the  hospitality.  I  invite  you 
now  in  his  name  and  my  own." 

"I  would  rather  you  asked  him  about  me  first,"  said 
Ambrose. 

This  made  Colina  really  angry.  "I  do  not  consult 
him  about  household  matters,"  she  said  stiffly. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Ambrose;  "but  in  this  case  I 
would  be  more  comfortable  if  you  spoke  to  him  first," 

"Are  you  afraid  of  him?"  she  inquired  with  raised 
eyebrows. 

"No,"  said  Ambrose  coolly ;  "but  I  don't  want  to  get 
you  into  trouble." 

Colina's  eyes  snapped.  "Thank  you,"  she  said; 
"you  needn't  be  anxious.  You  had  better  come — we 
dine  at  seven." 

"I  will  be  there,"  he  said. 

By  this  time  she  was  mounted.  As  she  gave  Ginger 
his  head  Ambrose  deftly  caught  her  hand  and  kissed 
it.  Colina  was  not  displeased.  If  it  had  been  self- 
consciously done  she  would  have  fumed. 

She  rode  home  with  an  uncomfortable  little  thought 
nagging  at  her  breast.  Was  he  really  so  simple  as  she 
had  decided?  Had  he  not  baited  her  into  losing  her 
temper — and  insisting  on  his  coming  to  dinner?  Sure- 
ly he  could  not  know  her  so  well  as  that ! 

"Anyway,  he  is  coming!"  she  thought  with  a  little 
gush  of  satisfaction  she  did  not  stop  to  examine.  "I'll 
wear  evening  dress,  the  black  taffeta,  and  my  string  of 
pearls.  At  my  own  table  it  will  be  easier — and  with 
father  there  to  support  me !  We  will  see !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    DINNER. 

COUNA  did  not  see  her  father  until  he  came  home 
from  the  store  for  dinner.  She  was  already  dressed 
and  engaged  in  arranging  the  table. 

John  Gaviller's  eyes  gleamed  approvingly  at  the 
sight  of  her  in  her  finery.  Black  silk  became  Colina's 
blond  beauty  admirably.  Manlike,  he  arrogated  the 
extra  preparations  to  himself.  He  thought  it  was  a 
kind  of  peace  offering  from  Colina. 

"Well!"  he  began  jocularly,  only  to  check  himself 
at  the  sight  of  three  places  set  at  the  table.  "Who's 
coming?"  he  demanded  with  natural  surprise. 

Colina,  busying  herself  attentively  with  the  center- 
piece of  painter's  brush,  wondered  if  her  father  had 
met  Ambrose  Doane.  She  gave  him  a  brief,  offhand 
account  of  her  adventure  without  mentioning  their 
guest's  name. 

"But  who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

She  answered  a  little  breathlessly:  "Ambrose  Doane 
of  Moultrie." 

Gaviller's  face  changed  slightly.  "H-m!"  he  said 
non-committally. 

"Doesn't  the  table  look  nice?"  said  Colina  quickly. 

"Very  nice,"  he  said. 

"We  must  prove  to  ourselves  once  in  a  while  that 
we  are  not  savages!" 

"Naturally!     Do  you  want  me  to  dress?" 

Colina,  who  had  not  looked  at  her  father,  neverthe- 
less felt  the  inimical  atmosphere.  She  stooped  to  a 
touch  of  flattery.  "You  are  always  well  dressed,"  she 
said,  smiling  at  him. 

45 


46  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Hra!"  said  Gaviller  again.  "Call  me  when  you're 
ready."  He  marched  off  to  his  library. 

Colina  breathed  freely.  So  far  so  good!  Ambrose 
Doane  had  not  been  to  call  on  her  father.  He  was 
hardly  the  simple  youth  she  had  decided.  But  she 
couldn't  think  the  less  of  him  for  that. 

When  she  heard  the  door-bell  ring — Gaviller's  house 
boasted  the  only  door-bell  north  of  Caribou  Lake — 
her  heart  astonished  her  with  its  thumping.  She  ran 
up  to  her  own  room.  Ambrose  according  to  instruc- 
tions previously  given  was  to  be  shown  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

Another  wonder  of  Gaviller's  house  was  the  full- 
length  mirror  imported  for  Colina.  She  ran  to  it 
now.  It  treated  her  kindly.  The  crisp,  thin,  dead- 
black  draperies  showed  up  her  white  skin  in  dazzling 
contrast. 

On  second  thought  she  left  off  the  string  of  pearls. 
The  effect  was  better  without  any  ornament.  Her  face 
was  her  despair;  her  eyes  were  misty  and  unsure;  the 
color  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks ;  she  could  not  keep 
her  lips  closed. 

"You  fool !  You  fool !"  she  stormed  at  herself.  "A 
man  you  have  seen  once!  He  will  despise  you!" 

She  could  not  keep  the  dinner  waiting.  Bracing 
herself,  she  started  for  the  hall.  A  final  glance  in 
the  mirror  gave  her  better  heart.  After  all  she  was 
beautiful  and  beautifully  dressed.  She  descended  the 
stairs  slowly,  whispering  to  herself  at  every  step: 
"Be  game !" 

Though  the  sun  was  still  shining  out-of-doors,  ac- 
cording to  Colina's  fancy,  every  night  at  this  hour 
the  shutters  were  closed  and  the  lamps  lighted.  The 
drawing-room  was  lighted  by  a  single,  tall  lamp  with 
a  yellow  shade. 

Ambrose  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
He  had  changed  his  clothes.  His  suit  was  somewhat 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  47 

wrinkled,  and  his  boots  unpolished,  but  he  looked 
less  badly  than  he  thought.  At  sight  of  Colina  he 
caught  his  breath  and  turned  very  pale.  His  eyes 
widened  with  something  akin  to  awe.  Colina  was  sud- 
denly relieved. 

"So  you  dared  to  come!"  she  said  with  a  careless 
smile. 

He  did  not  answer.  Plainly  he  could  not.  He  stood 
as  if  rooted  to  the  floor.  Colina  had  meant  to  offer 
him  her  hand,  but  suddenly  changed  her  mind. 

Instead,  with  reckless  bravado  considering  her  late 
state  of  mind,  she  went  to  the  lamp  and  turned  it  up. 
She  felt  his  honest,  stricken  glance  following  her,  and 
thrilled  under  it. 

"You  have  not  met  my  father?'* 

Ambrose  "took  a  brace"  as  he  would  have  said. 
"No,"  he  answered. 

"I  thought  very  likely  you  would  see  him  this  after- 
noon," she  said  with  a  touch  of  smiling  malice. 

His  directness  foiled  it. 

"I  waited  down  the  river,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  want 
to  have  a  row  with  him  that  might  spoil  to-night." 

"What  a  terrible  opinion  you  have  of  poor  father!" 
said  Colina. 

"Does  he  know  I'm  coming?"  asked  Ambrose. 

"Certainly !" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Nothing!     What  should  he  say?" 

"He  has  boasted  that  no  free-trader  ever  dared  set 
foot  in  his  territory." 

"I  don't  believe  it!  It's  not  like  him.  Come  along 
and  you'll  see." 

"Wait !"  said  Ambrose  quickly.     "Half  a  minute !" 

Colina  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You  don't  know  what  this  means  to  me!"  he  went 
on,  his  glowing,  unsmiling  eyes  fixed  on  her.  "A  lady's 
drawing-room!  A  lamp  with  a  soft,  pretty  shade! — 


48  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

and  you — like  that!     I — I  wasn't  prepared  for  it!" 

Colina  laughed  softly.  She  was  filled  with  a  great 
tenderness  for  him,  therefore  she  could  jeer  a  little. 

Ambrose  had  not  moved  from  the  spot  where  she 
found  him. 

"It's  not  fair,"  he  went  on.  "You  don't  need  that ! 
It  bowls  a  man  over." 

This  was  the  ordinary  language  of  gallantry — yet  it 
was  different.  Colina  liked  it.  "Come  on,"  she  said 
lightly,  "father  is  like  a  bear  when  he  is  kept  waiting 
for  dinner!" 

The  two  men  shook  hands  in  a  natural,  friendly  way. 
With  another  man  Ambrose  was  quite  at  ease.  Co- 
lina approved  the  way  her  youth  stood  up  to  the 
famous  old  trader  without  flinching.  They  took  places 
at  the  table,  and  the  meal  went  swimmingly. 

Ambrose,  whether  he  felt  his  affable  host's  secret 
animosity  and  was  stimulated  by  it,  or  for  another 
reason,  suddenly  blossomed  into  an  entertainer.  When 
her  father  was  present  he  addressed  Colina's  ear,  her 
chin  or  her  golden  top-knot,  never  her  eyes. 

John  Gaviller  apparently  never  looked  at  her  either, 
but  Colina  knew  he  was  watching  her  closely.  She 
was  not  alarmed.  She  had  herself  well  in  hand,  and 
there  was  nothing  in  her  politely  smiling,  slightly  scorn- 
ful air  to  give  the  most  anxious  parent  concern. 

Under  the  jokes,  the  laughter,  and  the  friendly  talk 
throughout  dinner,  there  were  electric  intimations  that 
caused  Colina's  nostrils  to  quiver.  She  loved  the  smell 
of  danger. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  keep  the  conversational 
bark  on  an  even  keel;  the  rocks  were  thick  on  every 
hand.  Business,  politics,  and  local  affairs  were  all  for 
obvious  reasons  tabooed.  More  than  once  they  were 
near  an  upset,  as  when  they  began  to  talk  of  Indians. 

Ambrose  had  related  the  anecdote  of  Tom  Beaver- 
tail  who,  upon  seeing  a  steamboat  for  the  first  time, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  49 

had  made  a  paddle-wheel  for  his  canoe,  and  forced 
his  sons  to  turn  him  about  the  lake. 

"Exactly  like  them!"  said  John  Gaviller  with  his 
air  of  amused  scorn.  "Ingenious  in  perfectly  useless 
ways !  Featherheaded  as  schoolboys !" 

"But  I  like  schoolboys!"  Ambrose  protested.  "It 
isn't  so  long  since  I  was  one  myself." 

"Schoolboys  is  too  good  a  word,"  said  Gaviller. 
"Say,  apes." 

"I  have  a  kind  of  fellow-feeling  for  them,"  said 
Ambrose  smiling. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  north?" 

"Two  years." 

"I've  been  dealing  with  them  thirty  years,"  said 
Gaviller  with  an  air  of  finality. 

Ambrose  refused  to  be  silenced.  Looking  around 
the  luxurious  room  he  felt  inclined  to  remark  that 
Gaviller  had  made  a  pretty  good  thing  out  of  the 
despised  race,  but  he  checked  himself. 

"Sometimes  I  think  we  never  give  them  a  show," 
he  said  with  a  deprecating  air.  "We're  always  trying 
to  cut  them  to  our  own  pattern  instead  of  taking  them 
as  they  are.  They  are  like  schoolboys,  as  you  say. 

"Most  of  the  trouble  with  them  comes  from  the 
fact  that  anybody  can  lead  them  into  mischief,  just 
like  boys.  If  we  think  of  what  we  were  like  ourselves 
before  we  put  on  long  trousers  it  helps  to  understand 
them." 

Gaviller  raised  his  eyebrows  a  little  at  hearing  the 
law  laid  down  by  twenty-five  years  old. 

"Ah !"  he  said  quizzically.  "In  my  day  the  use 
of  the  rod  was  thought  necessary  to  make  boys  into 
men !" 

Ambrose  grew  a  little  warm.  "Certainly !"  he  said. 
"But  it  depends  on  the  spirit  with  which  it  is  applied. 
How  can  we  do  anything  with  them  if  we  treat  them 
like  dirt?" 


50  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"You  are  quite  successful  in  handling  them?"  queried 
Gaviller  dryly. 

"Peter  Minot  says  so,**  said  Ambrose  simply.  "That 
is  why  he  took  me  into  partnership.'* 

"He  married  a  Cree,  didn*t  he?"  inquired  Gaviller 
casually. 

Colina  glanced  at  her  father  in  surprise.  This  was 
hardly  playing  fair  according  to  her  notions. 

"A  half-breed,"  corrected  Ambrose. 

"Of  course,  Eva  Lajeunesse,  I  remember  now,'*  said 
Gaviller.  "She  was  quite  famous  around  Caribou  Lake 
some  years  ago." 

Ambrose  with  an  effort  kept  his  temper.  "She  has 
made  him  a  good  wife,"  he  said  loyally. 

"Ah,  no  doubt!"  said  Gaviller  affably.  "Do  you 
live  with  them?'* 

"I  have  my  own  house,"  said  Ambrose  stiffly. 

Here  Colina  made  haste  to  create  a  diversion. 

"Aren't  the  Indian  kids  comical  little  souls?"  she 
remarked.  "I  go  to  the  mission  school  sometimes  to 
sing  and  play  for  them.  They  don't  think  much  of 
it.  One  of  the  girls  asked  me  for  a  hair.  One  hair  was 
all  she  wanted." 

The  subject  of  Indian  children  proved  to  be  in- 
nocuous. They  took  coffee  in  John  Caviller's  li- 
brary. 

"Colina  brought  these  new-fangled  notions  in  with 
her,"  said  her  father. 

"They're  all  right !"  said  Ambrose  soberly. 

Colina  saw  the  hand  that  held  his  spoon  tremble 
slightly,  and  wondered  why.  The  fact  was  the  thought 
could  not  but  occur  to  him:  "How  foolish  for  me  to 
think  she  could  ever  bring  her  lovely,  ladylike  ways 
to  my  little  shack!" 

He  thrust  the  unnerving  thought  away.  "I  can  build 
a  bigger  house,  can't  I?"  he  demanded  of  himself. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  51 

'Anyway,  I'll  make  the  best  play  to  get  her  that  I 


can !" 

In  the  library  they  talked  about  furniture.  It 
transpired  that  the  trader  had  a  passion  for  cabinet 
making,  and  most  of  the  objects  that  surrounded  them 
were  examples  of  his  skill.  Ambrose  admired  them  with 
due  politeness,  meanwhile  his  heart  was  sinking.  He 
could  not  see  the  slightest  chance  of  getting  a  word 
alone  with  Colina. 

In  the  middle  of  the  evening  a  breed  came  to  the 
door,  hat  in  hand,  to  say  that  John  Gaviller*s  Hereford 
bull  was  lying  down  in  his  stall  and  groaning.  The 
trader  bit  his  lip  and  glanced  at  Colina. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  and  see  my  beasts?"  he 
asked  affably. 

"Thanks,'*  said  Ambrose  just  as  politely.  "I'm  no 
hand  with  cattle."  He  kept  his  eyes  discreetly  down. 

Gaviller  could  not  very  well  turn  him  out  of  the 
house.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  He  went. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TWO  INTERVIEWS. 

THE  instant  the  door  closed  behind  Gaviller,  Am- 
brose's eyes  flamed  up.  "What  a  stroke  of  luck!"  he 
cried. 

It  had  something  the  effect  of  an  explosion  there 
in  the  quiet  room  where  they  had  been  talking  so 
prosily.  Colina  became  panicky.  "I  don't  understand 
you !"  she  said  haughtily. 

"You  do !"  he  cried.  "You  know  I  didn't  paddle 
three  hundred  miles  up-stream  to  talk  to  him!  Never 
in  my  life  had  I  anything  so  hard  to  go  through  with 
as  the  last  two  hours.  I  didn't  dare  look  at  you  for 
fear  of  giving  myself  away." 

There  was  an  extraordinary  quality  of  passion  in 
the  simple  words.  Colina  felt  faint  and  terrified. 
What  was  one  to  do  with  a  man  like  this !  She  mounted 
her  queenliest  manner.  "Don't  make  me  sorry  I  asked 
you  here,"  she  said. 

"Sorry?"  he  said.  "Why  should  you  be?  You  can 
do  what  you  like!  I  can't  pretend.  I  must  say  my 
say  the  best  way  I  can.  I  may  not  get  another 
chance !" 

Colina  had  to  fight  both  herself  and  him.  She  made 
a  gallant  stand.  "You  are  ridiculous!"  she  said.  "I 
will  leave  the  room  until  my  father  comes  back  if  you 
can't  contain  yourself." 

He  was  plainly  terrified  by  the  threat,  nevertheless 
he  had  the  assurance  to  put  himself  between  her  and 
the  door. 

"You  have  no  cause  to  be  angry  with  me,"  he 
said.  "You  know  I  do  not  disrespect  you!"  He  was 

52 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  53 

silent  for  a  moment.  His  voice  broke  huskily.  "You 
are  wonderful  to  me!  I  have  to  keep  telling  myself 
you  are  only  a  woman — of  flesh  and  blood  like  myself 
— else  I  would  be  groveling  on  the  floor  at  your  feet, 
and  you  would  despise  me!" 

Colina  stared  at  him  in  haughty  silence. 

"I  love  you!"  he  whispered  with  odd  abruptness. 
"No  woman  need  be  insulted  by  hearing  that.  You 
came  upon  me  to-day  like  a  bolt  of  lightning.  You 
have  put  your  mark  on  me  for  life !  I  will  never  be 
myself  again." 

His  voice  changed;  he  faltered,  and  searched  for 
words.  "I  know  I'm  rough!  I  know  women  like  to 
be  courted  regularly.  It's  right,  too !  But  I  have  no 
time!  I  may  never  see  you  alone  again.  Your  father 
will  take  care  of  that!  I  must  tell  you  while  I  can. 
You  can  take  your  time  to  answer." 

Colina  contrived  to  laugh. 

The  sound  maddened  him.  He  took  a  step  for- 
ward, and  a  vein  in  his  forehead  stood  out.  She  held 
her  ground  disdainfully. 

"Don't  do  that!"  he  whispered.  "It's  not  fair! 
I— I  can't  stand  it !" 

"Why  must  you. tell  me?"  asked  Colina.  "What 
do  you  expect?" 

"You!"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "If  God  is  good  to 
me!  For  life." 

"You  are  mad!"  she  murmured. 

"Maybe,"  he  said,  eying  her  with  the  resentment 
which  is  so  closely  akin  to  love;  "but  I  think  you 
understand  my  madness.  Talking  gets  us  nowhere. 
A  dozen  times  to-day  your  eyes  answered  mine.  Either 
you  feel  it  too  or  you  are  a  coquette !" 

This  brought  a  genuine  anger  to  Colina's  aid.  Her 
weakness  fled.  "How  dare  you!"  she  cried  with  blaz- 
ing eyes. 


54-  THE  FUR  BRINGER3 

"Coquette !"  he  repeated  doggedly.  "To  dress  your- 
self up  like  that  to  drive  me  mad!" 

Colina  forgot  the  social  amenities.  "You  fool !"  she 
cried.  "This  is  my  ordinary  way  of  dressing  at  night ! 
It  is  not  for  you!" 

"It  was  for  me !"  he  said  sullenly.  "You  were  happy 
when  you  saw  its  effect  on  me !  If  it's  only  a  game  I 
can't  play  it  with  you.  It  means  too  much  to  me !" 

"Coquette!"  still  made  a  clangor  in  Colina's  brain 
that  deafened  her  to  everything  else.  "You  are  a  sav- 
age!" she  cried.  "I'm  sorry  I  asked  you  here.  You 
needn't  wait  for  my  father  to  come  back.  Go !" 

"Not  without  a  plain  answer !"  he  said. 

Colina  tried  to  laugh;  she  was  too  angry.  "My 
answer  is  no !"  she  cried  with  outrageous  scorn.  "Now 
go!" 

He  stood  studying  her  from  under  lowering  brows. 
The  sight  of  her  like  that — head  thrown  back,  eyes 
glittering,  cheeks  scarlet,  and  lips  curled — was  like  a 
lash  upon  his  manhood.  The  answer  was  plain  enough, 
but  an  instinct  from  the  great  mother  herself  bade 
him  disregard  it.  Suddenly  his  eyes  flamed  up. 

"You  beauty!"  he  cried. 

Before  she  could  move  he  had  seized  her  in  her 
finery.  Colina  wlas  no  weakling,  but  within  those 
steely  arms  she  was  helpless.  She  strained  away  her 
head.  He  could  only  reach  her  neck,  under  the  ear. 
She  yielded  shudderingly. 

"I  hate  you !    I  hate  you !"  she  murmured. 

Their  lips  met. 

Colina  swayed  ominously  on  his  arm.  She  sank 
down  on  the  sofa,  still  straining  away  from  him,  but 
weakly.  Suddenly  she  burst  into  passionate  weep- 
ing. 

"What  have  you  done  to  me!"  she  murmured. 

At  sight  of  the  tears  he  collapsed.     "Ah,  don't!" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  55 

he  whispered  brokenly.  "You  break  my  heart!  My 
darling  love!  What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  am  a  fool — a  fool! — a  fool!"  she  sobbed  tem- 
pestuously. "To  have  given  in  to  you!  You  will 
despise  me!" 

He  slipped  to  the  floor  at  her  feet.  He  strove  des- 
perately to  comfort  her.  Tenderness  lent  eloquence 
to  his  clumsy,  unaccustomed  tongue. 

"Ah,  don't  say  that!  It's  like  sticking  a  knife 
in  me !  My  lovely  one !  As  if  I  could !  You  are  every- 
thing to  me!  I  have  nothing  in  the  world  but  you! 
Forgive  me  for  being  so  rough !  I  couldn't  help  it !  I 
couldn't  go  by  anything  you  said.  I  had  to  find  out 
for  sure !  It  had  to  happen !  What  does  it  matter 
whether  it  was  in  a  day  or  a  year?  The  minute  I 
saw  you  I  knew  how  it  was.  I  knew  I  had  to  have 
you  or  live  like  a  priest  till  I  died." 

Colina  was  not  to  be  comforted.  "You  think  so 
now!"  she  said.  "Later,  when  you  have  tired  of  me 
a  little,  or  if  we  quarreled,  you  would  remember 
that  I — I  was  too  easily  won!" 

"Ah,  don't !"  he  cried  exasperated,  "If  you  say 
it  again  I'll  have  to  swear.  What  more  can  I  say? 
I  love  you  like  my  life !  I  could  not  despise  you  with- 
out despising  myself!  I  don't  know  how  to  put  it. 
I  sound  like  a  fool!  But — but  this  is  what  I  mean. 
You  make  me  seem  worth  while  to  myself." 

Colina's  hands  stole  to  her  breast.  "Ah!  If  I 
could  believe  you!"  she  breathed. 

"Give  me  time !"  he  begged.  "What  good  does  talk- 
ing do  !  What  I  do  will  show  you !" 

Little  by  little  she  allowed  him  to  console  her. 
Her  arm  stole  around  his  shoulders,  her  head  was 
lowered  until  her  cheek  lay  in  his  hair. 

They  came  down  to  earth.     Ambrose  seated  him- 


56  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

self  beside  her,  and  looking  in  her  shamed  face  laughed 
softly  and  deep.  "You  fraud,"  he  said. 

Colina   hid   her   face.      "Don't!"    she   begged. 

He  laughed  more. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  she  demanded. 

"To  think  how  you  scared  me,"  he  said.  "With 
your  grand  clothes  and  high  and  mighty  airs.  I  had 
to  dig  my  toes  into  the  floor  to  keep  from  cutting  and 
running.  And  it  was  all  bluff!" 

"Scared  you!"  said  Colina.  "I  never  in  my  life 
knew  a  man  so  utterly  regardless  and  brutal!" 

"You  like  it,"  he  said.     Colina  blushed. 

"I  had  no  line  to  go  on,"  said  Ambrose  with  his 
engaging  simplicity.  "I  never  made  love  to  any  girls. 
I  haven't  read  many  books  either.  I  guess  that's 
all  guff,  anyway.  I  didn't  know  how  the  thing  ought 
to  be  carried  through.  But  something  told  me  if 
I  knuckled  under  to  you  the  least  bit  it  would  be  all 
day  with  Ambrose." 

They  laughed  together. 

John  Gaviller's  step  sounded  on  the  porch  outside. 
They  sprang  up  aghast.  They  had  completely  for- 
gotten his  existence. 

"Oh,  Heavens!"  whispered  Colina.  "He  has  eyes 
like  a  lynx !" 

Ambrose's  eyes,  darting  around  the  room,  fell  upon 
an  album  of  snapshots  lying  on  the  table.  He  flung 
it  open. 

When  Gaviller  came  in  he  found  them  standing  at 
the  table,  their  backs  to  him.  He  heard  Ambrose  ask : 

"Who  is  that  comical  little  guy?" 

Colina  replied:  "Ahcunazie,  one  of  the  Kakisa  In- 
dians in  his  winter  clothes." 

Colina  turned,  presenting  a  sufficiently  composed 
face  to  her  father.  "Oh,"  she  said.  "You  were  gone 
a  long  while.  What  was  the  matter  with  the  bull?" 

She  strolled  to  the  sofa   and  sat  down.      Ambrose 


57 

idly  closed  the  book  and  sat  down  across  the  room 
from  her.  Gaviller  glanced  from  one  to  another — • 
perhaps  it  was  a  little  too  well  done.  But  his  face 
instantly  resumed  its  customary  affability. 

"Nothing  serious,"  he  said.  "He  is  quite  all  right 
again." 

Ambrose  was  tormented  by  the  desire  to  laugh. 
He  dared  not  meet  Colina's  eye.  "It  is  terrible  to 
lose  a  valuable  animal  up  here,"  he  said  demurely. 

After  a  few  desultory  polite  exchanges  Ambrose 
got  up  to  go.  "I  was  waiting  to  say  good  night 
to  you,"  he  explained. 

"You  are  camping  down  the  river,  I  believe." 

"Half  a  mile  below  the  English  mission.  I  paddled 
up." 

"I'll  walk  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  with  you,"  said 
Gaviller  politely. 

As  in  nearly  all  company  posts  there  was  a  flag- 
pole in  the  most  conspicuous  spot  on  the  river-bank. 
It  was  halfway  between  Gaviller's  house  and  the  store. 
At  the  foot  of  the  pole  was  a  lookout-bench  worn 
smooth  by  generations  of  sitters. 

Leaving  the  house  after  a  formal  good  night  to 
Colina,  Ambrose  was  escorted  as  far  as  the  bench  by 
John  Gaviller.  The  trader  held  forth  amiably  upon 
the  weather  and  crops.  They  paused. 

"Sit  down  for  a  moment,"  said  Gaviller.  "I  have 
something  particular  to  say  to  you." 

Ambrose  suspected  what  was  coming.  But  hum- 
ming with  happiness  like  a  top  as  he  was,  he  could 
not  feel  greatly  concerned. 

Still  in  the  same  calm,  polite  voice  Gaviller  said: 
"I  confess  I  was  astonished  at  your  assurance  in 
coming  to  my  house." 

This  was  a  frank  declaration  of  war.  Ambrose, 
steeling  himself,  replied  warily:  "I  did  not  come  on 
business." 


58  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"What  did  you  come  for?" 

Ambrose  did  not  feel  obliged  to  be  as  frank  with 
father  as  with  daughter.  "I  am  merely  looking  at 
the  country." 

"Well,  now  that  you  have  seen  Fort  Enterprise," 
said  Gaviller  dryly,  "you  may  go  on  or  go  back.  I 
do  not  care  so  long  as  you  do  not  linger." 

Ambrose  frowned.     "If  you  were  a  younger  man — 
he  began. 

"You  need  not  consider  my  age,"  said  Gaviller. 

Ambrose  measured  his  man.  He  had  to  confess  he 
had  good  pluck.  The  idea  of  a  set-to  with  Colina's 
father  was  unthinkable.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to 
do  but  swallow  the  affront.  He  bethought  himself  of 
using  a  little  guile. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  come  here?"  he  demanded. 

"I  don't  like  the  way  you  and  your  partner  do 
business,"  said  Gaviller. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  a  wordy  dis- 
pute, but  Ambrose  was  only  human.  "You  are  sore 
because  we  smashed  the  company's  monopoly  at  Moul- 
trie,"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Gaviller  calmly.  "The  trade  is 
free  to  all.  What  little  you  have  taken  from  us  is 
not  noticeable  in  the  whole  volume.  But  you  have  de- 
liberately set  to  work  to  destroy  what  it  has  taken  two 
centuries  to  build  up — the  white  man's  supremacy. 
You  breed  trouble  among  the  Indians.  Youimake  them 
insolent  and  dangerous." 

"Company  talk,"  said  Ambrose  scornfully.  "A  man 
can  make  himself  believe  what  he  likes.  We  treat  the 
Indians  like  human  beings.  Around  us  they're  doing 
well  for  the  first  time.  Here,  where  you  have  your 
monopoly,  they're  sick  and  starving !" 

"That  is  not  true,"  said  Gaviller  coolly.  "And,  in 
any  case,  I  do  not  mean  to  discuss  my  business  with 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  59 

you.  I  deal  openly.  You  had  the  opportunity  to  do 
my  daughter  a  slight  service.  I  have  repaid  it  with 
my  hospitality.  We  are  quits.  I  now  warn  you 
not  to  show  your  face  here  again." 

"I  shall  do  as  I  see  fit,"  said  Ambrose  doggedly. 

"You  compel  me  to  speak  still  more  plainly,"  said 
Gaviller.  "If  you  are  found  on  the  Company's  prop- 
erty again,  you  will  be  thrown  off." 

"You  cannot  frighten  me  with  threats,"  said  Am- 
brose. 

"You  are  warned!"  said  Gaviller.  He  strode  off 
to  his  house. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  AMBROSE'S  CAMP. 

AMBROSE  was  awakened  in  his  mosquito-tent  by  an 
alarm  from  Job.  The  sun  was  just  up,  and  it  was 
therefore  no  more  than  three  o'clock.  A  visitor  was 
approaching  in  a  canoe. 

In  the  North  a  caller  is  a  caller.  Ambrose  crept 
out  of  his  blankets  and,  swallowing  his  yawns,  stuck 
his  head  in  the  river  to  clear  his  brain. 

The  visitor  was  a  handsome  young  breed  of  Am- 
brose's own  age.  Ambrose  surveyed  his  broad  should- 
ers, his  thin,  graceful  waist  and  thighs  approvingly. 
He  rejoiced  in  an  animal  built  for  speed  and  endur- 
ance. Moreover,  the  young  man's  glance  was  direct 
and  calm.  This  was  a  native  who  respected  himself. 

"Tole  Grampierre,  me,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand. 

Ambrose  grasped  it.  "I'm  Ambrose  Doane,"  he 
said. 

"I  know,"  said  the  young  breed.  "Las'  night  I  go 
to  the  store.  The  boys  say  Ambrose  Doane,  the  free- 
trader, is  camp*  down  the  river.  So  I  talk  wit'  my 
fat'er.  I  say  I  go  and  shake  Ambrose  Doane  by 
the  hand." 

"Will  you  eat?"  said  Ambrose.     "It  is  early." 

"When  you  are  ready,"  answered  Tole  politely. 
"I  come  early.  I  go  back  before  they  get  up  at  the 
fort.  If  old  man  Gaviller  know  I  come  to  you  it 
mak'  trouble.  My  fat'er  he  got  trouble  enough  wit' 
Gaviller." 

Tole  squatted  on  the  beach.  There  is  an  established 
ritual  of  politeness  in  the  North,  and  he  was  punc- 
tilious. 

60 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  61 

"You  are  well?  he  asked  gravely.  Ambrose  set 
about  making  his  fire.  "I  am  well,"  he  said. 

"Your  partner,  he  is  well?" 

"Peter  Minot  is  well." 

"You  do  good  trade  at  Lake  Miwasa?" 

"Yes.      Marten  is  plentiful." 

"Good  fur  here,  too.  Not  much  marten;  plenty 
link." 

"Your  father  is  well?"  asked  Ambrose  in  turn. 

"My  fat'er  is  well,"  said  Tole.  "My  four  brot'ers 
well,  too." 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Ambrose. 

More  polite  conversation  was  exchanged  while  Am- 
brose waited  for  his  guest  to  declare  the  object  of 
his  visit.  It  came  at  last. 

"Often  I  talk  wit'  my  fat'er,"  said  Tole.  "I  say 
there  is  not'ing  for  me  here.  Old  man  Gaviller  all 
tarn  mad  at  us.  We  don't  get  along.  I  say  I  t'ink 
I  go  east  to  Lake  Miwasa.  There  is  free  trade  there. 
Maybe  I  get  work  in  the  summer.  When  they  tell  me 
Ambrose  Doane  is  come,  I  say  this  is  lucky.  I  will 
talk  wit'  him." 

"Good,"  said  Ambrose. 

"W'at  you  t'ink?"  askeu  Tole,  masking  anxiety 
under  a  careless  air.  "Is  there  work  at  Moultrie  in 
the  summer?" 

Ambrose  instinctively  liked  and  trusted  his  man. 
"Sure,"  he  said.  "There  is  room  for  good  men." 

"Good,"  said  Tole  calmly.     "I  go  back  wit'  you." 

Ambrose  had  a  strong  curiosity  to  learn  of  the 
situation  at  Fort  Enterprise.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  saying  old  man  Gaviller  is  mad  at  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Tole.  He  filled  his  pipe  and  got 
it  going  well  before  he  launched  on  his  tale. 

"My  fat'er,  Simon  Grampierre,  he  is  educate',"  he 
began.  "He  read  in  books,  he  write,  he  spik  Angleys, 
he  spik  French,  he  spik  the  Cree.  We  are  Cree  half- 


62  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

breed.  My  father's  fat'er,  my  mot'er's  fat'er,  they 
white  men.  We  are  proud  people.  We  own  plenty 
land.  We  live  in  a  good  house.  We  are  workers. 

"All  the  people  on  ot'er  side  the  river  call  my  fat'er 
head  man.  When  there  is  trouble  all  come  to  our 
house  to  talk  to  my  fat'er  because  he  is  educate'. 
He  got  good  sense. 

"Before,  I  tell  you  there  is  good  fur  here.  It  is 
the  truth.  But  the  people  are  poor.  Every  year 
they  are  more  poor  as  last  year.  The  people  say: 
'Bam-by  old  man  Gaviller  tak'  our  shirts!  He  got 
everyt'ing  else.'  They  ask  my  fat'er  w'at  to  do." 

Tole  went  on:  "Always  my  fat'er  say:  'Wait,'  he 
say.  'We  got  get  white  man  on  our  side.  We  got 
get  white  man  who  knows  all  outside  ways.  He  bring 
an  outfit  in  and  trade  wit'  us.'  The  people  don't 
want  to  wait.  'We  starve!'  they  say. 

"My  fat'er  say:  'Non!  Gaviller  not  let  you  starve. 
For  why,  because  you  not  bring  him  any  fur  if  you 
dead.  He  will  keep  you  goin'  poor.  Be  patient,'  my 
fat'er  say.  'This  is  rich  country.  It  is  known  out- 
side. Bam-by  some  white  man  come  wit'  outfit  and 
pay  good  prices.' 

"Always  my  fat'er  try  to  have  no  trouble,"  con- 
tinued Tole.  "But  old  man  Gaviller  hear  about  the 
meetings  at  our  house.  He  hear  everyt'ing.  He 
write  a  letter  to  my  fat'er  that  the  men  mus'  come 
no  more. 

"My  fat'er  write  back.  My  fat'er  say:  'This  my 
house.  This  people  my  relations,  my  friends.  My 
door  is  open  to  all.'  Then  old  man  Gaviller  is  mad. 
He  call  my  fat'er  mal-content.  He  tak'  away  his 
discount." 

"Discount?"  interrupted   Ambrose. 

Tole  frowned  at  the  difficulty  of  explaining  this 
in  English.  "All  goods  in  the  store  marked  by  prices," 
he  said  slowly.  "Too  moch  prices.  Gaviller  say  for 


63 

good  men  and  good  hunters  he  tak'  part  of  price  away. 
He  tak'  a  quarter  part  of  price  away.  He  call  that 
discount.  If  a  man  mak'  him  mad  he  put  it  back 
again." 

The  working  out  of  such  a  scheme  was  clear  to 
Ambrose.  "Hm!"  he  commented  grimly.  "This  is 
how  a  monopoly  gets  in  its  innings." 

"Always  my  fat'er  not  want  any  trouble,"  Tole 
went  on.  "Pretty  soon,  I  t'ink,  the  people  not  listen 
to  him  no  more.  They  are  mad.  This  year  there 
will  be  trouble  about  the  grain.  Gaviller  put  the 
price  down  to  dollar-fifty  bushel.  But  he  sell  flour 
the  same." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  he  buys  your  grain  at  his 
own  price,  and  sells  you  back  the  flour  at  his  own 
price?"  demanded  Ambrose. 

Tole  nodded.  "My  fat'er  the  first  farmer  here," 
he  explained.  **Long  tarn  ago  when  I  was  little  boy, 
Gaviller  come  to  my  fat'er.  He  say :  'You  have  plenty 
good  land.  You  grow  wheat  and  I  grind  it,  and  both 
mak'  money.' 

"My  fat'er  say:  'I  got  no  plow,  no  binder,  no 
thresher.'  Gaviller  say:  'I  bring  them  in  for  you.' 
Gaviller  say:  'I  pay  you  two-fifty  bushel  for  wheat. 
I  can  do  it  up  here.  You  pay  me  for  the  machines 
a  little  each  year.' 

"My  fat'er  t'ink  about  it.  He  is  not  moch  for 
farm.  But  he  t'ink,  well,  some  day  there  is  no  more 
fur.  But  always  there  is  mouths  for  bread.  If  I 
be  farmer  and  teach  my  boys,  they  not  starve  when 
fur  is  no  more. 

"My  fat'er  say  to  Gaviller:  'All  right.'  Writings 
are  made  and  signed.  The  ot'er  men  with  good  land 
on  the  river,  they  say  they  raise  wheat,  too. 

"After  that  the  machines  is  brought  in.  Good 
crops  is  raised.  Ev'rything  is  fine.  Bam-by  Gaviller 
put  the  price  down  to  two-twenty-five.  Bam-by  he 


64  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

only  pay  two  dollar.  Tarns  is  hard,  he  say.  Las' 
year  he  pay  one-seventy-five.  Now  he  say  one-fifty 
all  he  pay. 

"The  farmers  say  they  so  poor  now,  might  as  well 
have  nothing.  They  say  they  not  cut  the  grain  this 
year.  Gaviller  say  it  is  his  grain.  He  will  go  on  their 
land  and  cut  it.  There  will  be  trouble." 

"This  is  a  kind  of  slavery!"  cried  Ambrose. 

"There  is  more  to  mak'  trouble,"  Tole  went  on 
with  his  calm  air.  "Three  years  ago  Gaviller  build  a 
fine  big  steamboat.  He  say:  'Now,  boys,  you  can 
go  outside  when  you  want.'  He  says:  'This  big  boat 
will  bring  us  ev'rything  good  and  cheap  from  outside.' 

"But  when  she  start  it  is  thirty  dollars  for  a  man 
to  go  to  the  Crossing.  And  fifty  cents  for  every 
meal.  Nobody  got  so  much  money  as  that. 

"It  is  the  same  to  bring  t'ings  in.  Not'ing  is 
cheaper.  Jean  Bateese  Gagnon,  he  get  a  big  book 
from  outside.  In  that  book  there  is  all  t'ings  to  buy 
and  pictures  to  show  them.  The  people  outside  will 
send  you  the  t'ings.  You  send  money  in  a  letter." 

"Mail  order  catalogue,"  suggested  Ambrose. 

"That  is  the  name  of  the  book,"  said  Tole.  In 
describing  its  wonders  he  lost,  for  the  first  time,  some 
of  his  imperturbable  air.  "Wa !  Wa !  All  is  so  cheap 
inside  that  book.  It  is  wonderful.  Three  suits  of 
clothes  cost  no  more  as  one  at  the  Company  store. 

"Everyt'ing  is  in  that  book.  A  man  can  get  shirts 
of  silk.  A  man  can  get  a  machine  to  milk  a  cow.  All 
the  people  want  to  send  money  for  t'ings.  Gaviller 
say  no.  Gaviller  say  steamboat  only  carry  Company 
freight.  Gaviller  say :  'Come  to  me  for  what  you  want 
and  I  get  it — at  regular  prices.'  " 

"And  this  is  supposed  to  be  a  free  country,"  said 
Ambrose. 

"The  men  are  mad,"  continued  Tole.  "They  do 
not'ing.  Only  Jean  Bateese  Gagnon.  He  is  the  mos' 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  65 

mad.  He  say  he  don*  care.  He  send  the  money  for 
a  plow  las'  summer.  All  wait  to  see  w'at  Gaviller  will 
do. 

"Gaviller  let  the  steamboat  bring  it  down.  He  say 
the  freight  is  fifteen  dollars.  Jean  Bateese  say: 
'Tak'  it  back  again.  I  won't  pay.'  Gaviller  say: 
*You  got  to  pay.'  He  put  it  on  the  book  against 
Gagnon." 

Tole  related  other  incidents  of  a  like  character. 
Ambrose  listened  with  ever  mounting  indignation. 
There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  truthful  ring  of 
the  simple  details. 

Not  only  was  Ambrose's  sense  of  humanity  up  in 
arms,  but  the  trader  in  him  was  angered  that  a  com- 
petitor should  profit  by  such  unfair  means.  With  a 
list  of  grievances  on  one  side  and  unqualified  sym- 
pathy on  the  other,  the  two  progressed  in  friendship. 

They  breakfasted  together,  Job  making  a  third. 
Ambrose  found  himself  more  and  more  strongly  drawn 
to  the  young  fellow.  He  was  reminded  that  he  had 
no  friend  of  his  own  age  in  the  country.  Tole,  he  said 
to  himself,  was  whiter  than  many  a  white  man  he 
had  known. 

Job,  who  as  a  rule  drew  the  colorline  sharply,  was 
polite  to  Tole.  Job  was  pleased  because  Tole  ignored 
him.  Uninvited  overtures  from  strangers  made  Job 
self-conscious. 

Tole  and  Ambrose,  being  young,  drifted  away  from 
serious  business  after  a  while.  They  discussed  sport. 
Tole  lost  some  of  his  gravity  in  talking  about  hunt- 
ing the  moose. 

Not  until  Tole  was  on  the  point  of  embarking  did 
the  real  object  of  his  visit  transpire.  "My  fat'er 
say  he  want  you  come  to  his  house,"  he  said  diffidently. 

"Sure  I  will,"  said  Ambrose. 

Tole  lingered  by  his  dugout,  affecting  to  test  the 


66  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

elasticity  of  his  paddle  on  the  stones.  He  glanced  at 
Ambrose  with  a  speculative  eye. 

"Maybe  you  and  Peter  Minot  open  a  store  across 
the  river  and  trade  with  us,"  he  suggested  with  a 
casual  air. 

Ambrose  was  staggered  by  the  possibilities  it  opened 
up.  He  knew  the  idea  was  already  in  Peter's  mind. 
What  if  he,  Ambrose,  should  be  chosen  to  carry  it 
out?  He  sparred  for  wind. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  warily.  "There  is  much 
to  be  considered.  I  will  talk  with  your  father." 

Tole  nodded  and  pushed  off. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

LOVERS. 

AMBROSE  and  Colina  had  had  no  opportunity  the 
night  before  to  arrange  for  another  meeting.  Am- 
brose stuck  close  to  his  camp,  feeling  somehow  that 
the  next  move  should  come  from  her. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  been  unduly  alarmed  by 
her  father's  threat,  though  he  had  a  young  man's 
healthy  horror  of  being  humiliated  in  the  beloved  one's 
presence. 

But  the  real  reason  that  kept  him  inactive  was  an 
instinctive  compunction  against  embroiling  Colina  with 
her  father.  She  had  only  know  him,  Ambrose,  a  day; 
she  should  have  a  chance  to  make  sure  of  her  own 
mind,  he  felt. 

As  to  what  he  would  do  if  Colina  made  no  move, 
Ambrose  could  not  make  up  his  mind.  He  considered 
a  night  expedition  to  the  fort;  he  considered  sending 
a  message  by  Tole.  Either  plan  had  serious  disad- 
vantages. It  was  a  hard  nut  to  crack. 

Then  he  heard  hoofs  on  the  prairie  overhead.  His 
heart  leaped  up  and  his  problems  were  forgotten.  He 
sprang  to  the  bank.  Job  heard  the  hoofs,  too,  and 
recognized  the  horse.  Job  hopped  into  the  empty 
dugout,  and  lay  "down  in  the  bow  out  of  sight,  like 
a  child  in  disgrace. 

At  the  sight  of  her  racing  toward  him  a  dizzying 
joy  swept  over  Ambrose;  but  something  was  wrong. 
She  stopped  short  of  him,  and  his  heart  seemed  to  stop, 
too. 

She  was  pale ;  her  eyes  had  a  dark  look.  An  inward 
voice  whispered  to  him  that  it  was  no  more  than  to  be 

67 


68  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

expected ;  his  happiness  had  been  too  swift,  too  bright 
to  be  real. 

He  went  toward  her.  "Colina!"  he  cried  appre- 
hensively. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  said  sharply. 

He  stopped.     "What  is  the  matter?"  he  faltered. 

She  made  no  move  to  dismount.  She  did  not  look 
at  him.  "I — I  have  had  a  bad  night,"  she  murmured. 
"I  came  to  throw  myself  on  your  generosity." 

"Generosity?"  he  echoed. 

"To — to  ask  you  to  forget  what  happened  last 
night.  I  was  mad!" 

Ambrose  had  become  as  pale  as  she.  He  had  noth- 
ing to  say. 

She  stole  a  glance  at  his  face.  At  the  sight  of  his 
blank,  sick  dismay  she  quickly  turned  her  head.  A 
little  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks. 

There  was  a  silence. 

At  last  he  said  huskily:  "What  has  happened  to 
change  you?" 

"Nothing,"  she  murmured.  "I  have  come  to  my 
senses."  His  stony  face  and  his  silence  terrified  her. 
"Aren't  you  a  little  relieved?"  she  faltered.  "It  must 
have  been  a  kind  of  madness  in  you,  too." 

He  raised  a  sudden,  penetrating  glance  to  her 
face.  She  could  not  meet  it.  It  came  to  him  that 
he  was  being  put  to  a  test.  The  revulsion  of  feeling 
made  him  brutal.  Striding  forward,  he  seized  her 
horse  by  the  rein. 

"Get  off!"  he  harshly  commanded. 

Colina  had  no  thought  but  to  obey. 

He  tied  the  rein  to  a  limb  and,  turning  back,  seized 
her  roughly  by  the  wrists. 

"What  kind  of  a  game  is  this?'*  he  demanded. 

Colina,  breathless,  terrified,  delighted,  laughed 
shakily. 

He  dropped  her  as  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  her, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  69 

and  walked  away  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  and  sat  down, 
staring  sightlessly  across  the  river  and  striving  to  still 
the  tumult  of  his  blood.  He  was  frightened  by  his 
own  passion.  He  had  wished  to  hurt  her. 

Colina  went  to  him  and  humbly  touched  his  arm. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  whispered. 

He  looked  at  her  grimly. 

"You  should  not  try  such  tricks,"  he  said.  "A 
man's  endurance  has  its  limits." 

There  was  something  delicious  to  Colina  in  abas- 
ing herself  before  him.  She  caught  up  his  hand  and 
pressed  it  to  her  cheek. 

"How  was  I  to  know?"  she  murmured.  "Other  men 
are  not  like  you." 

"I  might  have  surprised  you,"  he  said  grimly. 

"You  did!"  whispered  Colina.  The  suspicion  of  a 
dimple  showed  in  either  cheek. 

He  rose.  Let  me  alone  for  a  minute,"  he  said.  "Ill 
be  all  right."  He  went  to  the  horse  and  loosened  the 
saddle  girths. 

Colina  could  have  crawled  through  the  grass  to  his 
feet.  She  lay  where  he  had  left  her  until  he  came  back. 
He  sat  down  again,  but  not  touching  her.  He  was  still 
pale,  but  he  had  got  a  grip  on  himself. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  quietly,  "did  you  do  it  just  for 
fun,  or  had  you  a  reason?" 

"I  had  a  reason." 

"What  was  it?"  he  asked  in  cold  surprise. 

"I — I  can't  tell  you  while  you  are  angry  with  me," 
she  faltered. 

"I  can't  get  over  it  right  away,"  he  said  simply. 
"Give  me  time." 

Colina  hid  her  face  in  her  arm  and  her  shoulders 
shook  a  little.  It  is  doubtful  if  any  real  tears  flowed, 
but  the  move  was  just  as  successful.  He  leaned  over 
and  laid  a  tender  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Ah,  don't !"  he  said.     "What  need  you  care  if  I 


70  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

am  angry.  You  know  I  love  you.  You  know  I — I 
am  mad  with  loving  you!  Why — it  would  have  been 
more  merciful  for  you  to  shoot  me  down  than  come 
at  me  the  way  you  did !" 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  whispered.  "I  never  dreamed  it 
would  hurt  so  much !  I  had  to  do  it — Ambrose !" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  spoken  his  name.  He 
paused  for  a  moment  to  consider  the  wonder  of  it. 

"Why?"  he  asked  dreamily. 

Colina  sat  up. 

"I  worried  all  night  about  whether  you  would  be 
sorry  to-day,"  she  said,  averting  her  head  from  him. 
"I  thought  that  nothing  so  swift  could  possibly  be 
lasting.  And  then  this  morning  father  and  I  had  a 
frightful  row. 

"I  was  starting  out  to  come  to  you,  and  he  caught 
me.  He  all  but  disowned  me.  I  came  right  on — I 
told  him  I  was  coming.  And  on  the  way  here  I 
thought — I  knew  I  would  have  to  tell  you  what  had 
happened. 

"And  I  thought  if  you  were  secretly  sorry — for 
last  night — when  you  heard  about  father  and  I — you 
would  feel  that  you  had  to  stand  by  me  anyway! 
And  then  I  would  never  know  if  you  really —  So  I 
had  to  find  out  first." 

This  confused  explanation  was  perfectly  clear  to 
Ambrose. 

"Will  you  always  be  doubting  me?"  he  asked  wist- 
fully. "Can't  you  believe  what  you  see?" 

She  crept  under  his  arm.  "It  was  so  sudden !" 
she  murmured.  "When  I  am  not  with  you  my  heart 
fails  me.  How  can  I  be  sure?" 

He  undertook  to  assure  her  with  what  eloquence  his 
heart  lent  his  tongue.  The  feeling  was  rarer  than 
the  words. 

"How  wonderful,"  said  Ambrose  dreamily,  "for  two 
to  feel  the  same  toward  each  other!  I  always  thought 
that  women,  well,  just  allowed  men  to  love  them." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  71 

"You  dear  innocent !"  she  whispered.  "If  you  knew ! 
Women  are  not  supposed  to  give  anything  away!  It 
makes  men  draw  back.  It  makes  them  insufferable." 

"It  makes  me  humble,"  said  Ambrose. 

"You  boy  !"  she  breathed. 

"I'm  years  older  than  you,"  he  said. 

"Women's  hearts  are  born  old,"  said  Colina;  "men's 
never  grow  out  of  babyhood." 

Her  head  was  lying  back  on  the  thick  of  his  arm. 

"Your  throat  is  as  lovely — as  lovely  as  pearl!"  he 
whispered,  brooding  over  her. 

The  exquisite  throat  trembled  with  laughter. 

"You're  coming  out !"  she  said. 

"I  don't  care !"  said  Ambrose.  "You're  as  beautiful 
as — what  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  know? — as 
beautiful  as  a  morning  in  June  up  North." 

"I  don't  know  which  I  like  better,"  she  murmured. 

"Of  what?"  he  asked. 

"To  have  you  praise  me  or  abuse  me.  Both  are  so 
sweet !" 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "I  am  wondering  this  min- 
ute if  I  am  dreaming !  I'm  afraid  to  breathe  hard  for 
fear  of  waking  up." 

She  smiled  enchantingly. 

"Kiss  me !"  she  whispered.    "These  are  real  lips." 

"Sit  up,"  he  said  presently,  with  a  sigh.  "We  must 
talk  hard  sense  to  each  other.  What  the  devil  are  we 
going  to  do?" 

She  leaned  against  his  shoulder. 

"Whatever  you  decide,"  she  said  mistily. 

"What  did  your  father  say  to  you?"  asked  Am- 
brose. 

She  shuddered.  "Hideous  quarrelling!"  she  said. 
"I  have  the  temper  of  a  devil,  Ambrose !" 

"I  don't  care,"  he  said. 

"When  I  told  him  where  I  was  going  he  took  me 
back  in  the  library  and  started  in,"  she  went  on.  "He 
was  so  angry  he  could  scarcely  speak.  If  he  had  let 


72  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

it  go  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad.  But  to  try  to 
make  believe  he  wasn't  angry!  His  hypocrisy  dis- 
gusted me. 

"To  go  on  about  my  own  good  and  all  that,  and 
all  the  time  he  was  just  plain  mad!  I  taunted  him 
until  he  was  almost  in  a  state  of  ungovernable  fury. 
He  would  not  mention  you  until  I  forced  him  to. 

"He  said  I  must  give  him  my  word  never  to  see  you 
or  speak  to  you  again.  I  refused,  of  course.  He 
threatened  to  lock  me  up.  He  said  things  about  you 
that  put  me  beside  myself.  We  said  ghastly  things  to 
each  other.  We  are  very  much  alike.  You'd  better 
think  twice  before  you  marry  into  such  a  family, 
Ambrose." 

"I  take  my  chance,"  he  said. 

"I'm  sorry  now,"  Colina  went  on.  "I  know  he  is, 
too.  Poor  old  fellow!  I  have  you." 

"You  mustn't  break  with  him  yet,"  said  Ambrose 
anxiously. 

"I  know.  But  how  can  I  go  back  and  humble 
myself?" 

"He'll  meet  you  half-way." 

"If — if  we  could  only  get  in  the  dugout  and  go 
now!"  she  breathed. 

He  did  not  answer.     She  saw  him  turn  pale. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  the  best  way,"  she  murmured,  "since 
it's  got  to  be  anyway?" 

He  drew  a  long  breath  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  wouldn't  take  you  now,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"Of  course  not!"  she  said  quickly.  "I  was  only 
joking.  But  why?"  she  added  weakly.  Her  hand 
crept  into  his. 

"It  wouldn't  be  fair,"  he  said,  frowning.  "It  would 
be  taking  too  much  from  you." 

"Too  much!"  she  murmured,  with  an  obscure  smile. 

Ambrose  struggled  with  the  difficulty  of  explaining 
what  he  meant.  "I  never  do  anything  prudent  myself. 
I  hate  it.  But  I  can't  let  you  chuck  everything — 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  73 

without  thinking  what  you  are  doing.  You  ought  to 
stay  home  a  while — and  be  sure." 

"It  isn't  going  to  be  so  easy,"  she  said,  "quarrel- 
ing continually." 

"I  sha'n't  see  you  again  until  I  come  for  you," 
said  Ambrose.  "And  it's  useless  to  write  letters  from 
Moultrie  to  Enterprise.  I'm  out  of  the  way.  Why 
can't  the  question  of  me  be  dropped  between  you  and 
your  father?" 

"Think  of  living  on  from  month  to  month  without 
a  word!  It  will  be  ghastly!"  she  cried. 

"You've  only  known  me  two  days,"  he  said  sagely. 
"I  could  not  leave  such  a  gap  as  that." 

"How  coldly  you  can  talk  about  it!"  she  cried  re- 
belliously. 

Ambrose  frowned  again.  "When  you  call  me  cold 
you  shut  me  up,"  he  said  quietly. 

"But  if  you  do  not  make  a  fuss  about  me  every 
minute,"  she  said  naively,  "it  shames  me  because  I 
am  so  foolish  about  you." 

Ambrose  laughed  suddenly. 

There  followed  another  interlude  of  celestial  silli- 
ness. 

This  time  it  was  Colina  who  withdrew  herself  from 
him. 

"Ah,"  she  said  with  a  catch  of  the  breath,  "every 
minute  of  this  is  making  it  harder.  I  shall  want  to 
die  when  you  leave  me." 

Ambrose  attempted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  again. 

"No,"  she  insisted.  "Let  us  try  to  be  sensible. 
We  haven't  decided  yet  what  we're  going  to  do." 

"I'm  going  home,"  said  Ambrose,  "to  work  like  a 
galley-slave." 

"It  is  so  far,"  she  murmured. 

"I'll  find  some  way  of  letting  you  hear  from  me. 
Twice  before  the  winter  sets  in  I'll  send  a  messenger. 
And  you,  you  keep  a  little  book  anc!  write  in  it  when- 


74.  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

ever  you  think  of  me,  and  send  it  back  by  my  mes- 
senger." 

"A  little  book  won't  hold  it  all,"  she  said  naively. 

"Meanwhile  I'll  be  making  a  place  for  you.  I 
couldn't  take  you  to  Moultrie." 

She  asked  why. 

"Eva,  Peter's  wife,"  he  explained.  "In  a  way  Peter 
is  my  boss,  you  see.  It  would  be  a  horrible  situation." 

"I  see,"  said  Colina.  "But  if  there  was  no  help 
for  it  I  could." 

"Ah,  you're  too  good  to  me!"  he  cried.  "But  it 
won't  be  necessary.  Peter  and  I  have  always  intended 
to  open  other  posts.  I'll  take  the  first  one,  and  you 
and  I  will  start  on  our  own.  Think  of  it!  It  makes 
me  silly  with  happiness!" 

Upon  this  foundation  they  raised  a  shining  castle 
in  the  air. 

"I  must  go,"  said  Colina  finally,  "or  father  will 
be  equipping  an  armed  force  to  take  me." 

"You  must  go,"  he  agreed,  but  weakly. 

They  repeated  it  at  intervals  without  any  move 
being  made.  At  last  she  got  up. 

"Is  this — good-by?"  she  faltered. 

He  nodded. 

They  both  turned  pale.  They  were  silent.  They 
gazed  at  each  other  deeply  and  wistfully. 

"Ah!  I  can't!  I  can't!"  murmured  Colina  brok- 
enly. "Such  a  little  time  to  be  happy!" 

They  flew  to  each  other's  arms. 

"No — not  quite  good-by!"  said  Ambrose  shakily. 
"I'll  write  to  you  to-morrow  morning — everything  I 
think  of  to-night.  I'll  send  it  by  Tole  Grampierre. 
You  can  send  an  answer  by  him." 

"Ah,  my  dear  love,  if  you  forget  me  I  shall  die !" 

"You  doubt  me  still!  I  tell  you,  you  have  changed 
everything  for  me.  I  cannot  forget  you  unless  I  lose 
my  mind!" 


CHAPTER    X. 

ANOTHER   VISITOR. 

AMBROSE,  having  filled  the  day  as  best  he  could 
with  small  tasks,  was  smoking  beside  his  fire  and  en- 
viously watching  his  dog.  Job  had  no  cares  to  keep 
him  wakeful.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock,  and  still 
full  day. 

It  was  Ambrose's  promise  to  visit  Simon  Grampierre 
that  had  kept  him  inactive  all  day.  He  did  not  wish 
to  complicate  the  already  delicate  situation  between 
Grampierre  and  Gaviller  by  an  open  visit  to  the 
former.  He  meant  to  go  with  Tole  at  dawn. 

Suddenly  Job  raised  his  head  and  growled.  In  a 
moment  Ambrose  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse  approach- 
ing at  a  walk  above.  Thinking  of  Colina,  his  heart 
leaped — but  she  would  never  come  at  a  walk!  An  in- 
stinct of  wariness  bade  him  sit  where  he  was. 

A  mounted  man  appeared  on  the  bank  above.  It 
was  a  breed  forty-five  years  old  perhaps,  but  vigorous 
and  youthful  still;  good  looking,  well  kept,  with  an 
agreeable  manner;  thus  Ambrose's  first  impressions. 
The  stranger  rode  a  good  horse. 

"Well?"  he  said,  looking  down  on  Ambrose  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Tie  your  horse  and  come  down,"  said  Ambrose 
politely.  He  welcomed  the  diversion.  This  man  must 
have  come  from  the  fort.  Perhaps  he  had  news. 

Face  to  face  with  the  stranger,  Ambrose  was  sensible 
that  he  had  to  deal  with  an  uncommon  character. 
There  was  something  about  him,  he  could  not  decide 
what,  that  distinguished  him  from  every  other  man  of 
Indian  blood  that  Ambrose  had  ever  met. 

75 


76  THE  FUR  BRJNGERS 

He  wore  a  well-fitting  suit  of  blue  serge  and  a  show 
of  starched  linen,  in  itself  a  distinguishing  mark  up 
north.  "Quite  a  swell!"  was  Ambrose's  inward  com- 
ment. 

"You  are  Ambrose  Doane,  I  suppose?"  he  said  in 
English  as  good  as  Ambrose's  own.  Ambrose  nodded. 

"I  knew  you  had  dinner  with  Mr.  Gaviller  last 
night,"  the  man  went  on,  "but  as  you  didn't  drop  in 
on  us  at  the  store  to-day  I  supposed  you  had  gone 
back.  I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here." 

He  was  fluent  for  one  of  his  color — too  fluent  the 
other  man  felt.  Ambrose  was  sizing  him  up  with 
interest. 

It  finally  came  to  him  what  the  man's  distinguishing 
quality  was.  It  was  his  open  look,  an  expression  al- 
most of  benignity,  absolutely  foreign  to  the  Indian 
character.  Indians  may  give  their  eyes  freely  to  one 
another,  but  a  white  man  never  sees  beneath  the  glassy 
surface. 

This  Indian  in  look  and  manner  resembled  an  Eng- 
lish country  gentleman,  much  sunburnt;  or  one  of 
those  university-bred  East  Indian  potentates  who 
affect  motor-cars  and  polo  ponies.  Oddly  enough  his 
candid  look  affronted  Ambrose.  "It  isn't  natural," 
he  told  himself. 

"I  am  Gordon  Strange,  bookkeeper  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise," the  stranger  volunteered. 

The  bookkeeper  of  a  big  trading-post  is  always 
second  in  command.  Ambrose  understood  that  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  person  of  consideration  in 
the  country. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.     "Fill  up  your  pipe." 

Strange  obeyed.  "We're  supposed  to  be  red-hot 
rivals  in  business,"  he  said  with  an  agreeable  laugh. 
But  that  needn't  prevent,  eh?  Funny  I  should  stumble 
on  you  like  this !  I  ride  every  night  after  supper — a 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  77 

man  needs  a  bit  of  exercise  after  working  all  day 
in  the  store.  I  saw  the  light  of  your  fire." 

He  was  too  anxious  to  have  it  understood  that 
the  meeting  was  accidental.  Ambrose  began  to  sus- 
pect that  he  had  ridden  out  on  purpose  to  see  him. 

The  better  men  among  the  natives,  such  as  Tole 
Grampierre,  have  a  pride  of  their  own ;  but  they  never 
presume  to  the  same  footing  as  the  white  men.  Strange, 
however,  talked  as  one  gentleman  to  another. 

There  was  nothing  blatant  in  it;  he  had  a  well- 
bred  man's  care  for  the  prejudices  of  another.  Never- 
theless, as  they  talked  on  Ambrose  began  to  feel  a 
curious  repugnance  to  his  visitor,  that  made  him  wary 
of  his  own  speech. 

"Too  damn  gentlemanly!"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  in  to  see  us  to-day?"  in- 
quired Strange.  "We  don't  expect  a  traveler  to  give 
us  the  go-by." 

"Well,"  said  Ambrose  dryly,  "I  had  an  idea  that  my 
room  would  be  preferred  to  my  company." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Strange,  laughing.  "We  don't 
carry  our  business  war  as  far  as  that.  Why,  we 
want  to  show  you  free-traders  what  a  fine  place  we 
have,  so  we  can  crow  over  you  a  little.  Anyway, 
you  dined  with  Mr.  Gaviller,  didn't  you?" 

"John  Gaviller  would  never  let  himself  off  any  of 
the  duties  of  hospitality,"  said  Ambrose  cautiously. 

He  was  wondering  how  far  Strange  might  be  ad- 
mitted to  Gaviller's  confidence.  That  he  was  being 
drawn  out,  Ambrose  had  no  doubt  at  all,  but  he  did 
not  know  just  to  what  end. 

Strange  launched  into  extensive  praises  of  John 
Gaviller.  "I  ought  to  know,"  he  said  in  conclusion. 
"I've  worked  for  him  twenty-nine  years.  He  taught 
me  all  I  know.  He's  been  a  second  father  to  me." 

Ambrose  felt  as  an  honest  man  hearing  an  unneces- 


78  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

sary  and  fulsome  panegyric  must  feel,  slightly  nause- 
ated. He  said  nothing. 

Strange  was  quick  to  perceive  the  absence  of  en- 
thusiasm. He  laughed  agreeably.  "I  suppose  I  can 
hardly  expect  you  to  chime  in  with  me,"  he  said.  "The 
old  man  is  death  on  free-traders!" 

"I  have  nothing  against  him,"  said  Ambrose  quickly. 

"Of  course  I  don't  always  agree  with  him  on  mat- 
ters of  policy,"  Strange  went  on.  "Curious,  isn't  it, 
how  a  man's  ruling  characteristic  begins  to  get  the 
better  of  him  as  he  grows  old. 

"Mr.  Gaviller  is  always  just — but,  well,  a  leetle 
hard.  He's  pushing  the  people  a  little  too  far  lately. 
I  tell  him  so  to  his  face — I  oppose  him  all  I  can. 
But  of  course  he's  the  boss." 

Ambrose  began  to  feel  an  obscure  and  discomfort- 
ing indignation  at  his  visitor.  He  wished  he  would 

g°- 

"You  really  must  see  our  plant  before  you  go  back," 
said  Strange;  "the  model  farm,  the  dairy  herd,  the 
flourmill,  the  sawmill.  Will  you  come  up  to-morrow 
and  let  me  take  you  about?" 

His  glibness  had  the  effect  of  rendering  Ambrose 
monosyllabic.  "No,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  said  Strange,  laughing,  "what  did 
you  come  to  Fort  Enterprise  for  if  you  feel  that 
way  about  us?" 

Under  his  careless  air  Ambrose  thought  he  dis- 
tinguished a  certain  eagerness  to  hear  the  answer.  So 
he  said  nothing. 

"I'm  afraid  you  and  the  old  gentleman  must  have 
had  words,"  Strange  went  on,  still  smiling.  "Take 
it  from  me,  his  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite.  If  he 
broke  out  at  you,  he's  sorry  for  it  now.  It  takes  half 
my  time  to  fix  up  his  little  differences  with  the  people 
here." 

He  paused  to  give  the  other  an  opportunity  to 
speak.  Ambrose  remained  mum. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  79 

"The  old  man  certainly  has  a  rough  side  to  his 
tongue,"  murmured  Strange  insinuatingly. 

"You're  jumping  to  conclusions,"  said  Ambrose 
coolly.  "John  Gaviller  gave  me  no  cause  for  offense. 
I  was  well  entertained  at  his  house." 

"U-m!"  said  Strange.  He  seemed  rather  at  a  loss. 
Presently  he  went  on  to  tell  in  a  careless  voice  of  the 
coyote  hunts  they  had.  Afterward  he  casually  in- 
quired how  long  Ambrose  meant  to  stay  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  blunt  answer. 

"Well,  really!"  said  Strange  with  his  laugh — the 
sound  of  it  was  becoming  highly  exasperating  to  Am- 
brose. "I  don't  want  to  pry  into  your  affairs,  but 
you  must  admit  it  looks  queer  for  you  to  be  camping 
here  on  the  edge  of  the  company  reservation  without 
ever  coming  in." 

Ambrose  was  wroth  with  himself  for  not  playing 
a  better  part,  but  the  man  affected  him  with  such  re- 
pugnance he  could  not  bring  himself  to  dissimulate. 
"Sorry,"  he  said  stiffly.  "You'll  have  to  make  what 
you  can  of  it." 

Strange  got  up.  His  candid  air  now  had  a  touch 
of  manly  pride.  "Oh,  I  can  take  a  hint !"  he  said. 
"Hanged  if  I  know  what  you've  got  against  me!" 

"Nothing  whatever,"  said  Ambrose. 

"I  come  to  you  in  all  friendliness — " 

"Thought  you  said  you  stumbled  on  me,"  inter- 
rupted Ambrose. 

"I  mean  of  course  when  I  saw  you  here  I  came  in 
friendliness,"  Strange  explained  with  dignity. 

"Well,  go  in  friendliness,  and  no  harm  done  on 
either  side,"  said  Ambrose  coolly. 

For  a  brief  instant  Strange  lost  his  benignant  air. 
"I've  lived  north  all  my  life,"  he  said.  "And  I  never 
met  with  the  like.  We  have  different  ideas  about 
hospitality." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Ambrose  coolly.     "Good  night!" 


80  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

When  his  visitor  rode  away  Ambrose  turned  with 
relief  to  his  dog.  The  sight  of  Job's  honest  ugliness 
was  good  to  him. 

"He's  a  cur,  Job!"  he  said  strongly.  "A  snake 
in  the  grass!  An  oily  scoundrel!  I  don't  know  how 
I  know  it,  but  I  know  it!  A  square  man  would  have 
punched  me  the  way  I  talked  to  him." 

Job  wagged  his  tail  in  entire  approval  of  his  master's 
judgment.  Ambrose  turned  in,  feeling  better  for  hav- 
ing spoken  his  mind. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  lay  waiting  for  sleep  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  been  somewhat  hasty.  After  all, 
he  had  nothing  to  go  on.  And,  supposing  Strange 
were  what  he  thought  him,  how  foolish  he,  Ambrose, 
had  been  to  show  his  hand. 

If  he  had  been  craftier  he  might  have  learned  things 
of  value  for  him  to  know.  Following  this  unsatis- 
factory train  of  thought,  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ALEXANDER  SELKIRK  AND  FAMILY. 

AGAIN  Ambrose  was  awakened  by  a  furious  bark- 
ing from  Job.  It  was  even  earlier  than  on  the  pre- 
ceding morning.  The  sun  was  not  up;  the  river  was 
like  a  gray  ghost. 

Ambrose,  expecting  Tole,  looked  for  a  dugout. 
There  was  none  in  sight.  Job's  agitated  barks  were 
addressed  in  the  other  direction. 

Issuing  from  his  tent,  Ambrose  beheld  a  quaint 
little  man  squatting  on  top  of  the  bank  like  an  image. 
He  had  an  air  of  strange  patience,  as  if  he  had  been 
waiting  for  hours,  and  expected  to  wait. 

His  brown  mask  of  a  face  changed  not  a  line  at 
the  sight  of  Ambrose. 

"What  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  white  man. 

"Please,  I  want  spik  wit'  you,"  the  little  man  softly 
replied. 

"Come  down  here  then,"  said  Ambrose. 

The  early  caller  looked  at  Job  apprehensively. 
Ambrose  silenced  the  dog  with  a  command,  and  the 
man  came  slowly  down  the  bank,  cringing  a  little. 

The  quaintness  of  aspect  was  largely  due  to  the 
fact  that  he  wore  a  coat  and  trousers  originally  de- 
signed for  a  tall,  stout  man.  Ambrose  suspected  he 
had  a  child  to  deal  with  until  he  saw  the  wrinkles 
and  the  sophisticated  eyes. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  Alexander  Selkirk,  me,"  was  the  answer. 

Ambrose  could  not  but  smile  at  the  misapplication 
of  the  sonorous  Scotch  name  to  such  a  manikin. 

"You  Ambrose  Doane?"  the  other  said  solemnly. 

81 


82  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Everybody  seems  to  know  me,"  said  Ambrose. 

Alexander  stared  at  him  with  a  sullen,  walled,  specu- 
lative regard,  exactly,  Ambrose  thought,  like  a  school- 
boy facing  an  irate  master,  and  wondering  where  the 
blow  will  fall. 

To  carry  out  this  effect  he  was  holding  something 
inside  his  voluminous  jacket,  something  that  sug- 
gested contraband. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  demanded  Ambrose. 

Without  changing  a  muscle  of  his  face,  Alexander 
undid  a  button  and  produced  a  gleaming  black  pelt. 

Ambrose  gasped.  It  was  a  beautiful  black  fox. 
Such  a  prize  does  not  come  a  trader's  way  once  in 
three  seasons.  The  last  black  fox  Minot  &  Doane  had 
secured  brought  twelve  hundred  dollars  in  London — 
and  it  was  not  so  fine  a  specimen  as  this. 

Lustrous,  silky,  black  as  anthracite;  every  hair  in 
place,  and  not  a  white  hair  showing  except  the  tuft 
at  the  end  of  the  brush. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Ambrose  asked,  amazed. 

"I  trap  him,  me,  myself,"  said  Alexander. 

"When?" 

"Las'  Februar'." 

"Are  you  offering  it  to  me?"  asked  Ambrose,  eying 
it  desirously. 

"  'Ow  much  ?"  demanded  Alexander,  affecting  a  wall- 
eyed indifference. 

Ambrose  made  a  more  careful  examination.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  it ;  the  skin  was  perfect.  He  thrilled 
at  the  idea  of  returning  with  such  a  prize  to  his 
partner.  He  made  a  rapid  calculation. 

"Five  hundred  and  fifty  cash,"  he  said.  "Seven 
hundred  fifty  in  trade." 

A  spark  showed  in  Alexander's  eyes. 

"It  is  yours,"  he  said. 

"How  can  we  make  a  trade?'*  asked  Ambrose,  per- 
plexed.  "John  Gaviller  would  never  honor  any  order 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  83 

of  mine.     I  have  no  goods  here  to  give  you  in  trade." 

"All  right,"  said  Alexander  imperturbably.  "I  go 
to  Moultrie  to  get  goods." 

"You,  too,"  said  Ambrose.  "I  can't  import  you 
all." 

"I  got  go  Moultrie,  me,"  said  Alexander.  "I  got 
trouble  wit*  Gaviller.  He  starve  me  and  my  children. 
They  sick." 

"Starve  you !" 

"Gaviller  say  give  no  more  debt  till  I  bring  him 
my  black  fox,"  Alexander  went  on  apathetically.  "Give 
no  flour,  no  sugar,  no  meat,  no  tea.  My  brot'er  feed 
us  some.  Gaviller  say  to  him  better  not.  So  now 
we  have  not'ing.  We  ongry." 

This  promised  difficulties.  Ambrose  frowned.  "Tell 
me  the  whole  story,"  he  said. 

The  little  man  was  eying  the  grub-box  wolfishly. 
Throwing  back  the  cover,  Ambrose  offered  him  a  cold 
bannock. 

"Here,"  he  said.     "Eat  and  tell  me." 

Alexander  without  a  word  turned  and  scrambled  up 
the  bank  and  disappeared,  clutching  the  loaf  to  his 
breast.  The  white  man  shouted  after  him  without 
effect.  He  left  the  precious  pelt  behind  him. 

Ambrose  shrugged  philosophically.  "You  never 
can  tell." 

Presently  Alexander  came  back,  his  seamy  browfl 
face  as  blank  as  ever.  He  vouchsafed  no  explanation. 
Ambrose  affected  not  to  notice  him.  He  had  long  since 
found  it  to  be  the  best  way  of  getting  what  he  wanted. 
The  breed  squatted  on  the  stones,  prepared  to  wait  for 
the  judgment-day,  it  seemed. 

After  a  while  he  said  with  the  wary,  defiant  look  of 
a  child  beggar  who  expects  to  be  refused,  perhaps 
cuffed:  "Give  me  'not'er  piece  of  bread." 

Ambrose  without  a  word  broke  his  remaining  ban- 
nock in  two  and  gave  him  half.  Alexander  bolted  it 


84  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

with   incredible  rapidity   and   sat   as  before,  waiting. 

Ambrose,  wearying  of  this,  dropped  the  pelt  on  his 
knees,  saying:  "Take  your  black  fox.  I  cannot  trade 
with  you." 

It  had  the  desired  effect.  Alexander  arose  and  put 
the  skin  inside  the  tent.  "It  is  yours,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  tobacco." 

Ambrose  tossed  him  his  pouch. 

When  the  little  man  got  his  pipe  going,  squatting  on 
his  heels  as  before,  he  told  his  tale.  "Me  spik  Angleys 
no  good,"  he  said,  fingering  his  Adam's  apple,  as  if 
the  defect  was  there.  "Las'  winter  I  ver5  poor.  All 
tarn  moch  sick  in  my  stummick.  I  catch  him  fine 
black  fox.  Wa!  I  say.  I  rich  now. 

"I  tak'  him  John  Gaviller.  Gaviller  saj:  'Three 
hunder  twenty  dollar  in  trade.'  Wa !  That  is  not'in'. 
I  am  sick  to  hear  it.  Already  I  owe  that  debt  on 
the  book.  Then  I  am  mad.  Gaviller  t'ink  for  be- 
cause I  poor  and  sick  I  tak'  little  price.  I  t'ink  no ! 

"So  I  tak'  her  home.  The  men  they  look  at  her. 
Wa !  they  say,  she  is  miwasan — what  you  say,  beauty  ? 
They  say,  don'  give  Gaviller  that  black  fox,  Sandy. 
He  got  pay  more.  So  I  keep  her.  Gaviller  laugh. 
He  say:  'You  got  give  me  that  black  fox  soon.  I  not 
pay  so  moch  in  summer.' ' 

The  apathetic  way  in  which  this  was  told  affected 
Ambrose  strongly.  His  face  reddened  with  indigna- 
tion. The  story  bore  the  hall-marks  of  truth. 

Certainly  the  man's  hunger  was  not  feigned;  like- 
wise his  eagerness  to  accept  the  moderate  price  Am- 
brose had  offered  him  was  significant.  Ambrose 
scowled  in  his  perplexity. 

"Hanged  if  I  know  what  to  do  for  you!"  he  said. 
"I'll  give  you  a  receipt  for  the  skin.  I'll  give  you  a 
little  grub.  Then  you  go  home  and  stay  until  I  can 
arrange  something." 

Alexander  received  this  as  if  he  had  not  heard  it. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  85 

"You  hear,"  said  Ambrose.     "Is  that  all  right?" 

"I  got  go  Moultrie,"  the  little  man  said  stolidly. 

"You  can't !"  cried  Ambrose. 

Alexander  merely  sat  like  an  image. 

This  was  highly  exasperating  to  the  white  man. 
"You've  got  to  go  home,  I  tell  you,"  he  cried. 

"I  not  go  home,"  the  native  said  with  strange 
apathy.  "Gaviller  kill  me  now." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Ambrose.  "He  has  got  to  re- 
spect the  law." 

Alexander  was  unmoved.  "He  not  give  me  no  grub," 
he  said.  "I  starve  here." 

This  was  unanswerable.  Ambrose,  divided  between 
annoyance  and  compassion,  fumed  in  silence.  He  him- 
self had  only  enough  food  for  a  few  days.  The  breed 
wore  him  out  with  his  stolidity. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  he  asked  at 
last. 

"Give  me  little  flour,"  said  Alexander.  "I  go  to 
Moultrie." 

"What  will  you  do  with  your  family?" 

"I   tak'   them." 

"How  many?" 

"My  woman,  my  boy,  my  two  girl,  my  baby." 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  Ambrose.    "Have  you  a  boat?" 

"Non!  There  is  timber  down  the  river.  I  mak'  a 
raf,  me." 

"It  would  take  you  two  weeks  to  float  down,"  cried 
Ambrose.  "I  have  only  thirty  pounds  of  flour." 

Alexander  shrugged.  "We  ongry,  anyway,"  he  said. 
"We  lak  be  ongry  on  the  way." 

Ambrose  swore  savagely  under  his  breath.  This 
was  nearly  hopeless.  He  strode  up  and  down,  thrash- 
ing his  brains  for  a  solution. 

Alexander,  squatting  on  his  heels,  waited  apathetic- 
ally for  the  verdict.  He  had  shifted  his  burden  to  the 
white  man. 


86  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Where  is  your  family?"  demanded  Ambrose. 

Alexander  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  spoke  a 
word  in  Cree.  Instantly  four  heads  appeared  over 
the  edge  of  the  bank.  Job  barked  once  in  startled 
and  indignant  protest,  and  went  to  Ambrose's  heels. 

Ambrose  could  not  forbear  a  start  of  laughter  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  apparition.  It  was  like  the 
genii  in  a  pantomime  bobbing  up  through  the  trap- 
doors. 

"Come  down,"  he  said. 

A  distressful  little  procession  faced  him;  they  were 
gaunt,  ragged,  appallingly  dirty,  and  terrified  almost 
into  a  state  of  idiocy.  First  came  the  mother,  a 
travesty  of  womanhood,  dehumanized  except  for  her 
tragic,  terrified  eyes. 

A  boy  of  sixteen  followed  her,  ugly  and  misshapen 
as  a  gargoyle;  he  carried  the  baby  in  a  sling  on  his 
back.  Two  timorous  little  girls  came  last. 

They  lugged  their  pitiful  belongings  with  them — a 
few  rags  of  bedding  and  clothes,  some  traps  and  snow- 
shoes,  and  cooking  utensils.  The  smaller  girl  bore 
a  holy  picture  in  a  gaudy  frame. 

Ambrose's  heart  was  wrung  by  the  sight  of  so  much 
misery.  He  stormed  at  Alexander.  "Good  God !  What 
a  state  to  get  into.  What's  the  matter  with  you 
that  you  can't  keep  them  better  than  that?  You've 
no  right  to  marry  and  have  children!" 

Somehow  they  apprehended  the  compassion  that  ani- 
mated his  anger,  and  were  not  afraid  of  him.  They 
lined  up  before  him,  mutely  bespeaking  his  assistance. 

Their  faith  in  his  power  to  rescue  them  was  im- 
plicit. That  was  what  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  refuse. 

"Here,"  he  said  roughly.  "You'll  have  to  take  my 
dugout.  I'll  get  another  from  Grampierre.  You  can 
make  Moultrie  in  six  days  in  that  if  you  work.  That'll 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  87 

give  you  five  pounds  of  flour  a  day — enough  to  keep 
you  alive." 

The  word  "dugout"  galvanized  Alexander  into  ac- 
tion. Without  a  glance  in  Ambrose's  direction,  he 
ran  to  the  craft,  and  running  it  a  little  way  into  the 
water  rocked  it  from  side  to  side  to  satisfy  himself 
there  were  no  leaks. 

Turning  to  his  family  he  spoke  a  command  in  Cree, 
and  forthwith  they  began  to  pitch  their  bundles  in. 

Ambrose  was  accustomed  to  the  thanklessness  of 
the  humbler  natives.  They  are  like  children,  who  look 
to  the  white  man  for  everything,  and  take  what  they 
can  get  as  a  matter  of  course.  Still  he  was  a  little 
nonplused  by  the  excessive  precipitation  of  this  family. 

It  occurred  to  him  there  was  something  more  in 
their  desperate  eagerness  to  get  away  than  Alexander's 
tale  explained.  But  having  given  his  word,  he  could 
not  take  it  back. 

From  father  down  to  babe  their  faces  expressed 
such  relief  and  hope  he  had  not  the  heart  to  rebuke 
them.  Alexander  came  to  him  for  the  food,  and  he 
handed  over  all  he  had. 

"Wait !"  he  said.  "I  will  give  you  a  letter  for  Peter 
Minot.  Lord!"  he  inwardly  added.  "Peter  won't 
thank  me  for  dumping  this  on  him!" 

On  a  leaf  of  his  note-book  he  scribbled  a  few  lines 
to  his  partner  explaining  the  situation. 

"You  understand,"  he  said  to  Alexander,  "out  of 
your  credit  for  the  black  fox,  John  Gaviller  must  be 
paid  what  you  owe  him." 

Alexander  nodded  indifferently,  mad  to  get  away. 

As  Alexander's  squaw  was  about  to  get  in  the  dug- 
out she  paused  on  the  stones  and  looked  at  Ambrose, 
her  ugly,  dark  face  working  with  emotion.  Her  eyes 
were  as  piteous  as  a  wounded  animal's.  She  flung  up 
her  hands  in  a  gesture  expressing  her  powerlessness  to 
speak. 


88  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

It  seemed  there  was  some  gratitude  in  the  family. 
Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  she  caught  up  Ambrose's 
hand  and  pressed  it  passionately  to  her  lips.  The 
white  man  fell  back  astonished  and  abashed.  Alex- 
ander paid  no  attention  at  all. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  after  Ambrose  had  given 
them  the  dugout  the  distressed  family  pushed  off  for 
a  new  land.  Father  and  son  paddled  as  if  the  devil 
were  behind  them. 

"I  wonder  if  I  done  the  right  thing?"  mused  Am- 
brose. 

The  Selkirks  had  not  long  disappeared  down  the 
river  when  Ambrose  received  another  visitor.  This 
was  a  surly  native  youth  who,  without  greeting,  handed 
him  a  note,  and  rode  back  to  the  fort.  Ambrose's 
heart  beat  high  as  he  examined  the  superscription. 

He  did  not  need  to  be  told  who  had  written  it. 
But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  contents : 

DEAR: 

Come  to  me  at  once.  Come  directly  to  the  house. 
I  am  in  great  trouble. 

COLIN  A. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

GATHERING    SHADOWS. 

AMBROSE,  hastening  back  to  Gaviller's  house  with 
a  heart  full  of  anxiety,  came  upon  Gordon  Strange 
as  he  rounded  the  corner  of  the  company  store.  The 
breed  was  at  the  door.  Evidently  he  harbored  no  re- 
sentment, for  his  face  lighted  up  at  the  sight  of  an 
old  friend. 

"Well!"  he  said.     "So  you  came  to  see  us." 

Ambrose  felt  the  same  unregenerate  impulse  to 
punch  the  smooth  face.  However,  with  more  circum- 
spection than  upon  the  previous  occasion,  he  returned 
a  civil  answer. 

"Have  you  heard?"  asked  Strange,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  serious  concern. 

Ambrose  reflected  that  Strange  probably  knew  a 
message  had  been  sent. 

"Heard  what?"  he  asked  non-committally. 

"Mr.  Gaviller  was  taken  sick  last  night." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Ambrose 
quickly. 

Strange  shrugged.  "I  do  not  know  exactly.  The 
doctor  has  not  come  out  of  the  house  since  he  was 
sent  for.  A  stroke,  I  fancy." 

"I  will  go  to  the  house  and  inquire,"  said  Ambrose. 

He  proceeded,  telling  himself  that  Strange  had  not 
got  any  change  out  of  him  this  time.  He  was  re- 
lieved by  the  breed's  news;  he  had  feared  worse. 

To  be  sure,  it  was  terribly  hard  on  Colina,  but 
on  his  own  account  he  could  not  feel  much  pain  of 
mind  over  a  sickness  of  Caviller's. 

The  half-breed  girl  who  admitted  him  showed  a 

89 


90  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

scared  yellow  face.  Evidently  the  case  was  a  serious 
one.  She  ushered  him  into  the  library.  The  aspect, 
the  very  smell  of  the  little  room,  brought  back  the 
scene  of  two  days  before  and  set  Ambrose's  heart  to 
beating. 

Presently  Colina  came  swiftly  in,  closing  the  door 
behind  her.  She  was  very  pale,  and  there  were  dark 
circles  under  her  eyes.  She  showed  the  unnatural 
self-possession  that  a  brave  woman  forces  on  herself 
in  the  presence  of  a  great  emergency.  Her  eyes  were 
tragic. 

She  came  straight  to  his  arms.  She  lowered  her 
head  and  partly  broke  down  and  wept  a  little. 

"Ah,  it's  so  good  to  have  some  one  to  lean  on!" 
she  murmured. 

"Your  father — what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked 
Ambrose. 

The  look  in  her  eyes  and  her  piteous  shaking  warned 
him  to  expect  something  worse  than  the  tale  of  an 
illness. 

She  lifted  her  white  face. 

"Father  was  shot  last  night,"  she  said. 

"Good  God!"  said  Ambrose.     "By  whom?" 

"We  do  not  know." 

"He's  not — he's  not —  '  Ambrose's  tongue  balked 
at  the  dreadful  word. 

She  shook  her  head.  "A  dangerous  wound,  not 
necessarily  fatal.  We  can't  tell  yet." 

"You  have  no  idea  who  did  it?" 

Colina  schooled  herself  to  give  him  a  coherent  ac- 
count. The  sight  of  her  forced  calmness,  with  those 
eyes,  was  inexpressibly  painful  to  Ambrose. 

"No.  He  went  out  after  dinner.  He  said  he  had 
to  see  a  man.  He  did  not  mention  his  name.  He 
came  back  at  dusk.  I  was  on  the  veranda.  He  was 
walking  as  usual — perfectly  straight.  But  one  hand 
was  pressed  to  his  side. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  91 

"He  passed  me  without  speaking.  I  followed  him 
in.  In  the  passage  he  said:  'I  am  shot.  Tell  no  one 
but  Giddings.'  Then  he  collapsed  in  my  arms.  He 
has  not  spoken  since." 

Ambrose  heard  this  with  mixed  feelings.  His  heart 
bled  for  Colina.  Yet  the  grim  thought  would  not  down 
that  the  tyrannous  old  trader  had  received  no  more 
than  his  deserts.  He  soothed  her  with  clumsy  tender- 
ness. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  keep  it  a  secret?"  he  asked 
after  a  while. 

"Father  wished  it,"  said  Colina.  "We  think  he 
must  have  had  a  good  reason.  The  doctor  thinks  it  is 
best.  There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  trouble  with 
the  natives ;  many  of  them  are  ugly  and  rebellious. 
And  we  whites  are  so  few ! 

"Father  could  keep  them  in  hand.  They  are  in 
such  awe  of  him ;  they  regard  him  as  something  almost 
more  than  mortal.  If  they  learn  that  he  is  vulnerable 
— who  knows  what  might  happen!" 

"I  understand,"  said  Ambrose  grimly. 

"So  no  one  knows,  not  even  the  servants.  I  have 
hidden  all  the — things.  Of  course,  the  man  who  did 
it  will  never  tell."  The  calm  voice  suddenly  broke  in 
a  cry  of  agony.  "Oh,  Ambrose!" 

He  comforted  her  mutely. 

"It  is  so  dreadful  to  think  that  any  one  should 
hate  him  so!"  said  poor  Colina.  "So  unjust!  They 
are  like  his  children.  He  is  severe  with  them  only 
for  their  good!" 

Ambrose  concealed  a  grim  smile  at  this  partial  view 
of  John  Gaviller. 

"He  lies  there  so  white  and  still,"  she  went  on.  "It 
nearly  breaks  my  heart  to  think  how  I  have  quarreled 
with  him  and  gone  against  his  wishes.  If  waiting  on 
him  day  and  night  will  ever  make  it  up  to  him,  I'll 
do  it!" 


9S  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Ambrose's  breast  stirred  a  little  with  resentment, 
but  he  kept  his  mouth  shut.  He  understood  that  it 
was  good  for  Colina  to  unburden  her  breast. 

"Ah,  thank  God   I   have  you!"   she  murmured. 

Tliey  heard  the  doctor  coming,  and  Colina  drew 
away.  She  introduced  the  two  men. 

"Mr.  Doane  is  my  friend,"  she  said.  "He  is  one 
of  us." 

The  doctor  favored  Ambrose  with  a  glance  of  as- 
tonishment before  making  his  professional  announce- 
ment. Ambrose  saw  the  typical  hanger-on  of  a  trad- 
ing-post, a  white  man  of  Gaviller's  age,  careless  in 
dress,  with  a  humorous,  intelligent  face,  showing  the 
ravages  of  a  weak  will.  At  present,  with  the  sole  re- 
sponsibility of  an  important  case  on  his  shoulders,  he 
looked  something  like  the  man  he  was  meant  to  be. 

It  was  no  time  for  commonplaces. 

"John  is  conscious,"  he  said  directly.  "He  is  show- 
ing remarkable  resistance.  There  is  no  need  for  anj 
immediate  alarm.  He  wants  to  make  a  statement.  I 
made  the  excuse  of  getting  pencil  and  paper  to  come 
down.  In  a  matter  of  such  importance  I  think  there 
should  be  another  witness." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Colina. 

Giddings  shook  his  head.  "Your  father  expressly 
forbade  it,"  he  said.  "He  wishes  to  spare  you." 

Colina  made  an  impatient  gesture,  but  seemed  to 
acquiesce. 

"You  go,"  she  said  to  Ambrose. 

Giddings  looked  doubtful,  but  said  nothing. 

"I'm   afraid   the   sight   of   me — "   Ambrose  began. 

"I  don't  mean  that  you  should  go  in,"  said  Colina. 
"If  you  stand  in  the  doorway  he  cannot  see  you 
the  way  he  lies." 

Ambrose  nodded  and  followed  Giddings  out. 

"What  is  the  wound?"  he  asked. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  93 

"Through  the  left  lung.  He  will  not  die  of  the 
shot.  I  can't  tell  yet  what  may  develop." 

Ambrose  halted  at  the  open  door  of  Gaviller's  room. 
The  windows  looked  out  over  the  river,  and  the  cooling 
northwest  wind  was  wafted  through.  The  hospital- 
like  bareness  of  the  room  evinced  a  simple  taste  in 
the  owner.  The  gimcracks  he  loved  to  make  were  all 
for  the  public  rooms  below. 

The  head  of  the  bed  was  toward  the  door.  On  the 
pillow  Ambrose  could  see  the  gray  head,  a  little  bald 
on  the  crown. 

Giddings,  after  feeling  his  patient's  pulse,  sat  down 
beside  the  bed  with  pad  and  pencil. 

"I'm  ready  to  take  down  what  you  say,"  he  said. 

The  wounded  man  said  in  a  weak  but  surprisingly 
clear  voice: 

"You  understand  this  is  not  to  be  used  unless  the 
worst  happens  to  me." 

Giddings  nodded. 

"You  must  give  me  your  word  that  no  proceedings 
will  be  taken  against  the  man  I  name — unless  I  die. 
I  will  not  die.  When  I  get  up  I  will  attend  to  him." 

"I  promise,"  said  Giddings. 

After  a  brief  pause  Gaviller  said: 

"I  was  shot  by  the  breed  known  as  Sandy  Selkirk." 

Ambrose  sharply  caught  his  breath.  A  great  light 
broke  upon  him. 

Gaviller  went  on: 

"He  caught  a  black  fox  last  winter  that  he  has 
persistently  refused  to  give  up  to  me.  Out  of  sheer 
obstinacy  he  preferred  to  starve  his  family.  Yester- 
day Strange  told  me  he  thought  it  likely  Selkirk 
would  try  to  dispose  of  the  skin  to  Ambrose  Doane, 
the  free-trader  who  is  hanging  around  the  fort." 

Giddings   sent   a   startled  glance  toward  the  door. 

"Strange  said  perhaps  news  of  it  had  been  carried 
down  the  river,  and  that  was  what  Doane  had  come 


94  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

for.  So  I  went  to  Selkirk's  shack  last  night  to  get 
it.  I  consider  it  mine,  because  Selkirk  already  owes 
the  company  its  value.  Any  attempt  to  dispose  of 
it  elsewhere  would  be  the  same  as  robbing  me. 

"Selkirk  refused  to  give  it  up,  and  I  took  it.  He 
shot  me  from  behind.  There  were  no  witnesses  but 
his  family.  That  is  all  I  want  to  say." 

"I  have  it,"  murmured  Giddings. 

The  gray  head  rolled  impatiently  on  the  pillow. 
"Giddings,  don't  let  that  skin  get  away.  I  rely  on 
you.  Be  firm.  Be  secret." 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  said  the  doctor. 

He  came  to  the  door,  ostensibly  to  close  it,  show- 
ing a  scared  face.  "I  didn't  know  what  was  com- 
ing," his  lips  shaped. 

Ambrose  nodded  to  him  reassuringly,  meaning  to 
convey  that  nothing  he  had  heard  would  influence  his 
actions. 

Giddings  closed  the  door,  and  Ambrose  returned 
down-stairs  with  a  heart  that  sunk  lower  at  each  step. 
What  he  had  at  first  regarded  calmly  enough  as 
Gayiller's  tragedy  he  now  clearly  saw  was  likely  to 
prove  tragic  for  himself. 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  put  Colina  off. 

"I  must  know !"  she  cried  passionately.  "I'm  the 
head  here  now.  I  must  know  where  we  all  stand." 

Ambrose  told  her.  To  save  her  feelings  he  instinc- 
tively softened  the  harsher  features.  It  did  not  do  his 
own  cause  any  good  later. 

"Oh,  the  wretch !"  breathed  Colina  between  set  teeth. 
"I  know  him!  A  sneaking  little  scoundrel!  Just  the 
one  to  shoot  from  behind!  To  think  we  must  let  him 
go !  That  is  the  hardest." 

Ambrose  was  silent. 

"We  must  get  the  skin,"  she  went  on  eagerly.  "Gid- 
dings can't  handle  the  natives.  You  do  that  for  me." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  95 

"It  is  too  late,"  said  Ambrose  grimly.  "He  is 
gone  with  it." 

"Gone?"  she  exclaimed,  with  raised  eyebrows.  "How 
do  you  know?" 

"He  came  to  my  camp  at  dawn,"  said  Ambrose. 
Honesty  compelling  him,  he  added  with  a  touch  of 
defiance:  "I  gave  him  my  dugout." 

Colina  shrank  from  him. 

"You  helped  him  get  away !"  she  cried. 

"I  didn't  know  what  had  happened,"  he  said  in- 
dignantly. 

"Of  course  not!"  said  Colina,  with  quick  penitence. 

But  she  did  not  return  to  him.  Presently  the  frown 
came  back;  she  began  to  breathe  quickly.  "You  saw 
the  skin ;  you  must  have  talked  with  him.  You  took 
his  part  against  father !" 

Ambrose  had  nothing  to  say.  He  could  have  groaned 
aloud  in  his  helplessness  to  avert  the  catastrophe 
that  he  saw  coming. 

It  was  as  if  a  horrible,  black-shrouded  shape  had 
stepped  between  him  and  Colina. 

She,  too,  was  aware  of  it.  For  an  age-long  moment 
they  stared  at  each  other  with  a  kind  of  chilled  terror. 

Neither  dared  speak  of  what  both  were  thinking. 

At  last  Colina  tried  to  wave  the  hideous  fantom 
away. 

"Ah,  we  mustn't  quarrel  now !"  she  said  tremulously. 
"Couldn't  the  man  be  overtaken  and  the  skin  recov- 
ered?" 

"Possibly,"  admitted  Ambrose.  "I  wouldn't  advise 
it." 

Colina,  freshly  affronted,  struggled  with  her  anger. 

**Let  me  explain,"  said  Ambrose.  "I  agreed  to 
take  the  skin  from  him,  but  on  the  understanding 
that  out  of  the  price  Mr.  Gaviller  must  be  paid  every 
cent  of  what  was  owing  him."  His  reasonable  air  sud- 
denly failed  him.  "Colina,"  he  burst  out  imploringly, 


96  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"it  was  worth  more  than  double  what  your  father 
offered !  That  was  the  trouble !  What  is  a  skin  to  us  ? 
I  pledge  myself  to  transmit  whatever  price  it  brings 
to  your  father.  Won't  that  do  ?" 

"Don't  say  anything  more  about  it,"  said  Colina 
painfully.  "You're  right;  we  mustn't  quarrel  about  a 
thing  like  that." 

A  wretched  constraint  fell  upon  them.  For  the 
moment  the  catastrophe  had  been  averted,  but  both 
felt  it  was  only  for  the  moment. 

They  had  nothing  to  say  to  each  other. 

Finally  Colina  moved  toward  the  door. 

"I  must  see  if  anything  is  wanted  up-stairs,"  she 
murmured.  "Wait  here  for  me." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    QUARREL. 

WHEN  Colina  returned  she  said  immediately:  "Am- 
brose, can  you  stay  at  Fort  Enterprise  a  little  while 
longer?" 

His  heart  leaped  up.  "As  long  as  I  can  help  you!" 
he  cried. 

They  looked  at  each  other  wistfully.  They  wanted 
so  much  to  be  friends — but  the  black  shape  was  still 
there  in  the  room. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  here  in  the  house,** 
said  Colina. 

Ambrose  shook  his  head.  "I'd  much  better  stay 
in  camp." 

She  acquiesced.  "There  are  three  white  men  here,*' 
she  went  on,  "Giddings,  Macfarlane  the  policeman, 
and  Mr.  Pringle  the  missionary.  Each  is  all  right 
in  his  way,  but — '* 

"They're  all  in  love  with  you,"  suggested  Ambrose. 

She  smiled  faintly.     "How  did  you  know?" 

Ambrose  shrugged.     "Deduced  it." 

"You  see  I  cannot  take  any  of  them  into  my  con- 
fidence." 

"Colina !"  he  said.     "If  you  would  only  let  me — " 

"Ah,  I  want  to !"  she  returned.  "If  only,  only 
you  will  not  abuse  him — wounded  and  helpless  as  he 
is !" 

Here  was  the  black  shape  again. 

"I  suppose  Gordon  Strange  will  run  the  business," 
said  Ambrose. 

"Naturally,"  said  Colina.  "He  knows  everything 
about  it.'* 

97 


98  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"If  you  want  my  advice,"  Ambrose  said  diffidently, 
"do  not  trust  him  too  far." 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Mr.  Strange 
is  almost  like  one  of  the  family.  He's  been  father's 
right-hand  man  for  years  and  years.  Father  says 
he's  the  best  servant  the  company  possesses." 

"That  may  be,"  said  Ambrose  doggedty,  "but  a 
good  servant  makes  a  bad  master.  After  all,  he  is  not 
one  of  us.  If  you  value  my  advice  at  all  you  will 
never  let  him  know  he  is  running  things." 

"How  can  I  help  it?  I  haven't  told  him  yet  what 
has  happened;  but  Dr.  Giddings  and  I  agreed  that 
he  must  be  told.  He  never  mixes  with  the  natives." 

"Of  course  he  must  know  your  father  was  wounded, 
but  he  needn't  be  told  how  seriously.  If  I  were  you  I 
would  make  him  inform  me  of  every  detail  of  the 
business  on  the  pretext  of  repeating  it  to  your  father. 
And  I  would  issue  orders  to  him  as  if  they  came  from 
your  father's  bed." 

"How  can  I?"  said  Colina.  "I  know  nothing  of 
the  business." 

"I  can  help  you,"  said  Ambrose — "if  you  want  me 
to.  I  know  it." 

"But,  Ambrose,"  she  objected,  "what  reason  have 
you  to  feel  so  strongly  against  Mr.  Strange?" 

"No  reason,"  he  said;  "only  an  instinct.  I  believe 
he's  a  crook." 

"Father  relies  on  him  absolutely." 

"Maybe  his  influence  with  your  father  was  some- 
times unfortunate." 

Colina's  eyebrows  went  up.  "Influence!  Father 
would  hardly  allow  his  judgment  to  be  swayed  by  a 
breed." 

"You're  a  woman,"  said  Ambrose  earnestly.  "You 
should  not  despise  these  feelings  that  we  have  some- 
times and  cannot  give  a  reason  for.  I  saw  Strange  on 
my  way  here.  I  exchanged  only  half  a  dozen  words 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  99 

with  him,  yet  I  am  as  sure  as  I  can  be  that  he  was 
glad  of  the  accident  to  your  father  and  hopes  to  profit 
by  it  somehow." 

Colina  was  still  incredulous. 

"Look  what  he  wrote  me  this  morning!"  she  cried. 
"It  sounds  so  genuine." 

She  handed  him  a  note  from  the  desk.    He  read : 

DEAR  Miss  COLINA: 

They  are  saying  that  your  father  has  been  taken 
ill ;  that  the  doctor  has  been  with  him  all  night.  I  am 
more  distressed  than  I  can  tell  you.  You  know  what 
he  is  to  me!  Do  send  me  some  word.  He  was  so 
cheerful  and  well  yesterday  that  I  cannot  believe  it 
can  be  serious.  Native  gossip  always  magnifies  every- 
thing. 

If  it  is  all  right  to  speak  to  him  about  business, 
will  you  remind  him  that  a  deputation  from  the  farm- 
ers is  due  at  the  store  this  morning  to  receive  his 
final  answer  as  to  the  price  of  wheat  this  year.  As 
far  as  I  know  his  intention  is  to  offer  one-fifty  a 
bushel,  but  something  may  have  come  up  to  cause  him 
to  change  his  mind.  Unless  he  is  very  ill,  I  would 
rather  not  take  this  responsibility  upon  myself. 

Do  let  me  have  word  from  you. 

G.  S. 

"Anybody  can  write  letters,"  said  Ambrose.  "It 
sounds  to  me  as  if  he  was  just  trying  to  find  out  how, 
bad  your  father  is.  He  could  easily  put  the  farm- 
ers off." 

"I  can't  believe  he's  as  bad  as  you  say,"  said  Colina 
gravely.  "Why,  he  was  here  long  before  I  was  born. 
But  I  will  be  prudent.  With  your  help  I'll  try  to  run 
things  myself." 

Ambrose  sent  her  a  grateful  glance — shot  with  ap- 
prehension. He  dreaded  what  was  still  to  come. 


100  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"This  question  of  the  price  of  the  wheat,"  Colina 
went  on;  "we  have  to  give  him  an  answer  or  confess 
father  is  very  ill." 

Ambrose  nodded  gloomily. 

"Fortunately  that  is  easy,"  she  continued;  "for  he 
spoke  about  it  at  dinner  last  night.  He  means  to  pay 
one-fifty."  She  moved  toward  the  desk.  "I'll  send  a 
note  over  at  once." 

The  critical  moment  had  arrived — even  more  swiftly 
than  he  feared.  He  could  not  think  clearly,  for  the 
pain  he  felt. 

"Ah,  Colina,  I  love  you !"  he  cried  involuntarily. 

She  paused  and  smiled  over  her  shoulder. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  surprised  and  gentle.  "That's 
why  you're  here." 

"I've  got  to  advise  you  honestly,"  he  cried,  "no 
matter  what  trouble  it  makes." 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  "What's  the  matter,  Am- 
brose?" 

"You  should  offer  them  one-seventy-five  for  their 
wheat." 

The  eyebrows  went  up  again.     "Why?" 

"It's  only  fair.     Two  dollars  would  be  fairer." 

"But  father  said  one-fifty." 

"Your  father  is  wrong  in  this  instance." 

Colina  frowned  ominously. 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  demanded. 

"I  know  the  price  of  flour  at  the  different  posts," 
he  said  deprecatingly.  "I  know  the  risks  that  must 
be  allowed  for  and  the  fair  profit  one  expects." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  father  is  unfair?"  she 
cried. 

He  was  silent.  An  unlucky  word  had  betrayed 
him.  He  could  have  bitten  his  tongue.  Still,  he  re- 
flected sullenly,  it  was  bound  to  come.  You  can't 
make  black  white,  however  tenderly  you  describe  it. 

Colina  sprang  to  her  feet. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  101 

"Unfair !"  she  cried.  "That  is  to  say  a  cheat !  You 
can  say  it  while  he  is  lying  up-stairs  desperately 
wounded!" 

"Colina,  be  reasonable,"  he  implored.  "The  fact 
that  he  is  suffering  can't  make  a  wrong  right." 

"There  is  no  wrong!"  she  cried.  "What  do  you 
know  about  conditions  here?" 

"They  come  to  my  camp,"  he  said  simply,  "one  after 
another  to  beg  me  to  help  them." 

"And  you  were  not  above  it,"  she  flashed  back, 
"murderers  and  others!" 

An  honest  anger  fired  Ambrose's  eyes.  "You're 
talking  wildly,"  he  said  sternly.  "I'm  trying  to  help 
you." 

Colina  laughed. 

With  a  great  effort  he  commanded  his  temper. 
"What  do  you  see  yourself  in  }Tour  rides  about  the 
settlement?"  he  asked.  "Poverty  and  wretchedness! 
How  do  you  explain  it  when  times  are  good — when  this 
is  known  as  the  richest  post  in  the  north?" 

Colina  would  have  none  of  his  reasoning.  "These 
are  just  the  dangerous  ideas  my  father  warned  me 
against !"  she  cried  passionately.  "This  is  how  you 
make  the  natives  discontented  and  unruly!" 

"You  will  not  listen  to  me !"  he  cried  in  despair. 

"Listen  to  you!  I  see  him  lying  there — helpless. 
I  am  sick  with  compassion  for  him  and  with  hatred 
against  the  creatures  who  did  it.  And  you  dare  to 
attack  him,  to  excuse  them !  I  will  not  endure  it !" 

"I  am  not  attacking  him.  Right  or  wrong,  he  has 
brought  about  a  disastrous  situation.  lie's  the  first  to 
suffer.  We're  all  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano. 
We  are  five  whites  here,  and  three  hundred  miles  from 
the  nearest  of  our  kind.  If  we  want  to  save  him 
and  save  ourselves  we've  got  to  face  the  facts." 

Of  this  Colina  heard  one  sentence.     "Do  you  mean 


102  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

to  say  that  father  brought  this  on  himself?"  she  de- 
manded, breathlessly  angry. 

Ambrose  made  a  helpless  gesture. 

"I  am  to  understand  that  you  justify  the  breed?" 
she  persisted. 

"You  have  no  right  to  put  words  into  my  mouth!" 

Colina  repeated  like  an  automaton.  "Do  you  think 
the  breed  was  justified  in  shooting  my  father?" 

"I  will  not  answer." 

"You've  got  to  answer — before  you  and  I  go  any 
farther!" 

"Colina,  think  what  you're  doing!"  he  cried.  "We 
must  not  quarrel." 

"I'm  not  quarreling,"  she  said  with  an  odd,  flinty 
quietness.  "I'm  trying  to  find  out  something  neces- 
sary for  me  to  know.  You  might  as  well  answer.  Do 
you  think  the  breed  was  justified  in  shooting  my 
father?" 

Ambrose,  baited  beyond  endurance,  cried :  "I  do ! 
He  went  into  the  man's  house  and  laid  hands  on  his 
property.  Even  a  breed  has  rights." 

Colina  bowed  her  head  as  if  in  polite  acceptance. 
"You  had  better  go,"  she  said  in  soft  tones  more 
terrible  than  a  cry.  "I  am  sorry  I  ever  saw  you !" 

The  bitterness  of  lovers'  quarrels  is  in  ratio  with 
their  passion  for  each  other.  These  two  loved  with 
complete  abandon,  consequently  each  could  wound 
the  other  maddeningly. 

But  the  plant  of  their  love,  vigorous  as  it  was, 
was  not  rooted  in  old  acquaintance.  When  the  top 
withered  under  the  blasts  of  anger  there  was  no  store 
of  life  below.  Now  each  was  secretly  terrified  by  the 
strangeness  of  the  being  to  whom  he  had  yielded  his 
soul. 

Ambrose,  wild  with  pain,  no  longer  recked  what  he 
said.  "You  make  a  man  mad!"  he  cried.  "You  will 
not  listen  to  reason.  A  thing  must  be  so  just  be- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  103 

cause  you  want  it  that  way.  I  rack  my  brains  for 
words  to  save  your  feelings,  and  this  is  what  I  get! 
Very  well,  you  shall  have  the  bald  truth." 

"Leave  the  house !"  cried  Colina. 

"Not  until  I  have  spoken  out !" 

She  clapped  her  hands  over  her  ears. 

"That  is  childish!"  he  said  scornfully.  "You  can 
hear  me!  Throughout  the  whole  north  your  father 
is  called  the  slave-driver!" 

Colina  faced  him  still  and  white.  This  was  the 
very  incandescence  of  anger.  "Go!"  she  said.  "I'm 
done  with  you!" 

"One  thing  more,"  he  said  doggedly.  "The  price  of 
wheat.  I  shouldn't  have  said  anything  about  justice. 
Putting  that  aside,  it  will  be  good  business  for  you 
to  pay  the  farmers  their  price.  Otherwise  youll 
have  red  rebellion  on  your  hands!" 

As  Ambrose  made  for  the  door  he  met  Gordon 
Strange  coming  in. 

"Wait!"  Colina  commanded.  "I  want  you  to  hear 
this." 

It  was  impossible  to  tell  from  her  set  face  what  she 
meant  to  do.  Ambrose  waited,  hoping  against  hope. 

"You  want  to  know  about  the  wheat?"  said  Colina. 

"First,  your  father,"  said  Strange,  anxious  and 
compassionate. 

"He  is  not  dangerously  ill,"  said  Colina. 

"Ah!"  said  Strange.  "Yes,  the  farmers  are  wait- 
ing." 

Colina  said  clearly :  "The  price  is  to  be  one-fifty  per 
bushel." 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  said  Strange.  "I  will 
tell  them."  He  went. 

"Ah,  Colina !"  cried  Ambrose  brokenly. 

She  left  the  room  slowly,  as  if  he  had  not  been 
there. 

Ambrose  could  not  have  told  how  he  got  out  of 
the  house. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SIMON    GRAMPIERRE. 

AMBROSE  lay  in  his  tent  with  his  head  hidden  in 
his  arms,  trying  not  to  think.  Job  licked  his  hand  un- 
heeded. A  hail  from  the  river  forced  him  to  rouse 
himself.  As  he  crawled  out  he  instinctively  cast  a 
glance  at  the  sun.  It  was  mid-afternoon. 

Tole  Grampierre  landed  on  the  stones.  "You  are 
seeck !"  he  exclaimed,  seeing  Ambrose's  face. 

Though  life  loses  all  its  savor,  it  must  be  carried 
on  with  a  good  air.  "Mai  de  tete!"  said  Ambrose, 
making  light  of  it.  "It  will  soon  pass." 

Tole  accepted  the  explanation.  He  told  Ambrose 
that  he  had  come  that  morning  and  found  him  gone. 
He  had  come  back  to  tell  him  what  the  white  man 
already  knew — that,  though  Gaviller  had  been  laid 
low  by  a  mysterious  stroke,  he  had  sent  word  from 
his  sick-bed  that  he  would  pay  no  more  than  one- 
fifty  for  wheat. 

"The  men  are  moch  mad,"  Tole  went  on  in  his 
matter-of-fact  way.  "They  not  listen  to  my  fat'er  no 
more.  Say  he  too  old.  All  come  to  meet  to  our  house 
to-night.  There  will  be  trouble.  My  fat'er  send  me 
for  you.  He  say  maybe  you  can  stop  the  trouble." 

"I  stop  it?"  said  Ambrose,  laughing  harshly.  "What 
the  devil  can  I  do?" 

Tole  shrugged.  "My  fat'er  say  nobody  but  you 
can  stop  it." 

It  was  clear  to  Ambrose  that  "trouble"  signified 
danger  to  Colina.  "I'll  come,"  he  said  apathetically. 

"Where  is  your  dugout?"  asked  Tole. 

Ambrose  explained. 

104 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  105 

"Bring  all  your  things,"  said  Tole.  "You  stay 
at  our  house  now  till  you  go  back.  My  raot'er  got 
good  medicine.  She  cure  mal  de  tete." 

Ambrose  reflected  bitterly  that  Mrs.  Grampierre's 
simples  could  hardly  reach  his  complaint.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  not  anxious  to  be  left  alone — he  was  not 
one  to  nourish  a  sorrow.  He  packed  up  what  re- 
mained of  his  outfit,  and  Tole  stowed  it  in  the  dugout. 

The  Grampierre  house  was  a  mile  and  a  half  above 
the  Company's  establishment  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  The  two  young  men  had,  therefore,  a  three- 
mile  paddle  against  the  current. 

Landing,  Ambrtose  saw  before  him  a  low,  wide- 
spreading  house  built  of  squared  logs  and  whitewashed. 
Ample  barns  and  outhouses  spread  around  a  rough 
square.  The  whole  picture  brought  to  mind  a  manor- 
house  of  earlier  and  simpler  times. 

The  patriarch  himself  waited  at  the  door.  He  was 
a  fine  figure  of  manhood — lean,  straight,  rugged  as 
a  jack-pine.  He  had  the  noble  aquiline  features  of 
the  red  side  of  the  house,  and  his  dark  face  was  won- 
derfully set  off  by  a  luxuriant,  snowy  thatch. 

Ambrose,  indifferent  as  he  was,  could  not  but  be 
struck  by  the  old  man's  beauty,  and  his  dignity  was 
equal  to  his  good  looks.  Young  Tole's  naive  pride 
in  his  parent  was  explained. 

Ambrose  was  introduced  to  a  wide  interior  of  a  dig- 
nified bareness.  This  was  the  main  room  of  the  house; 
the  kitchen  they  called  it,  though  the  cooking  was  done 
outside. 

It  was  spotlessly  clean;  none  too  common  a  thing 
in  the  north.  Clearly  these  people  had  their  pride. 

Still  Ambrose  was  reminded  of  the  difference  be- 
tween white  and  red,  for  the  women  of  the  house  were 
ignored,  and  when  later  he  sat  down  to  sup  with  Simon 
and  his  five  strong  sons  the  wives  waited  humbly  on  the 
table. 


106  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Afterward  the  men  sat  before  the  door,  smoking. 
Simon  kept  Ambrose  at  his  right  hand,  and  conversed 
with  him  as  with  an  honored  guest.  He  avoided  all 
reference  to  what  had  brought  him. 

When  Ambrose,  not  understanding  the  reason  for 
his  delicacy,  asked  about  the  coming  meeting,  Simoa 
said: 

"When  all  come  you  learn  what  every  man  thinks. 
I  not  want  to  shape  your  mind  to  my  mind  until  all 
are  here." 

They  came  by  ones  and  twos,  a  litle  company  of 
twenty-odd.  Many  anomalies  of  race  were  exhibited. 
Some  showed  a  Scotch  cast  of  feature,  some  French, 
some  purely  Indian. 

One  or  two  might  have  been  taken  for  white  men 
had  it  not  been  for  an  odd  cast  of  the  eye.  Yet  it 
might  happen  the  Indian  and  the  white  man  were  full 
brothers.  The  general  character  of  the  faces  was 
stolid  rather  than  passionate. 

There  was  little  talk. 

The  room  having  been  cleared,  they  went  inside. 
The  women  had  disappeared.  Simon  Grampierre  sat 
at  an  end  of  the  room,  with  Ambrose  at  his  right,  and 
his  sons  ranged  about  him.  The  other  men  faced  them 
from  the  body  of  the  room. 

There  were  not  chairs  for  all,  but  indeed  chairs 
suggested  church,  the  trader's  house,  and  other  places 
of  ceremony;  and  those  without,  squatting  on  their 
heels  around  the  walls,  were  the  happier. 

Talk  was  slow  to  start.  They  kept  their  hats  on 
and  stolidly  looked  down  their  noses.  When  it  began 
to  grow  dark  a  single  little  lamp  was  brought  in  and 
stood  upon  a  dresser  in  the  corner. 

The  wide  room  with  its  one  spot  of  light  and  all  the 
still,  shadowy  figures  conveyed  an  effect  of  grimness. 

Simon  Grampierre  opened  the  meeting.  Out  of 
courtesy  to  Ambrose  all  the  talk  was  in  English. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  107 

"Men!"  said  the  patriarch.  "John  Gaviller  send 
word  that  he  will  pay  only  one-fifty  a  bushel  for  our 
grain.  We  meet  to  talk  and  decide  what  to  do.  All 
must  agree.  In  agreement  there  is  strength. 

"Already  there  has  been  much  talk  about  our  grain. 
I  will  waste  no  words  now.  For  myself  and  my  sons 
I  pledge  that  we  will  not  sell  one  bushel  of  grain  less 
than  dollar-seventy-five.  What  do  the  others  say?" 

One  by  one  the  men  arose  and  repeated  the  pledge, 
each  raising  his  right  hand.  Ambrose  began  to  be 
aware  that  the  stolidity  masked  a  high  emotional  ten- 
sion. It  was  his  own  presence  that  restrained  them. 

Simon  rose  again.  "I  have  heard  talk  that  you  will 
spoil  your  grain,"  he  said.  "Some  say  let  the  cattle 
and  horses  in  the  field  while  it  is  green.  Some  say  bum 
it  when  it  gets  ripe.  That  is  foolish  talk. 

"Grain  is  as  good  as  money  or  as  fur.  A  man  does 
not  feed  money  to  cattle  nor  burn  up  fur.  I  say  cut 
your  grain  and  thrash  it  and  store  it.  Some  one  will 
buy  it. 

"Gaviller  himself  got  to  buy  when  he  see  we  mean 
to  stand  together.  He  has  made  contracts  to  send 
flour  to  the  far  north.  Who  wants  to  speak?" 

A  little  man  of  marked  French  characteristics 
sprang  to  his  feet.  His  eyes  flashed.  "I  speak!"  he 
cried. 

"This  Jean  Bateese  Gagnon,"  explained  Simon  to 
Ambrose. 

"Simon  Grampierre  say  wait!"  cried  the  little  man 
passionately.  "Always  he  say,  'Wait,  wait,  wait !'  All 
right  for  Simon  Grampierre  to  wait.  He  got  plenty 
beef  and  potatoes  and  goods  in  his  house.  He  can 
wait. 

"What  will  a  poor  man  do  while  he  wait?  What 
will  I  do — starve,  and  see  my  children  starve?  If  we 
not  sell  grain  we  get  no  credit  at  the  store.  Where 


106  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

I  get  warm  clothes  for  the  winter  and  meat  and  sugar 
and  powder  for  my  gun? 

"What  do  we  wait  for,  un  miracle?  Do  we  wait  for 
Gaviller's  heart  to  soften?  We  wait  a  long  tain  for 
that  I  t'ink,  me!  While  we  wait  I  think  Gaviller  get 
busy.  He  say  he  come  and  cut  our  grain.  Will  we 
wait  and  let  him?" 

The  old  man  interrupted  here:  "If  Gaviller  put  his 
men  on  our  land  we  fight,'*  he  said. 

"Aha !"  cried  Jean  Bateese.  "He  will  not  wait  then. 
You  say  let  us  cut  our  grain  and  store  it  and  wait 
for  one  to  buy,"  he  went  on.  "What  will  Gaviller  do? 
I  tell  you.  He  will  go  to  law !  It  is  not  the  first  time. 
He  mak'  the  law  to  serve  him. 

"We  all  owe  him  for  goods.  He  will  send  out  and 
get  law  papers  to  say  because  we  owe  him  money  for 
goods  our  grain  is  his  grain.  If  he  got  law-papers  the 
police  come  and  take  our  grain  for  him.  W'at  you 
say  to  t'at,  hein?" 

Old  Simon  was  plainly  disconcerted.  He  turned 
to  Ambrose.  "Will  you  speak?" 

Ambrose's  heart  sank.  How  is  a  dead  man  to 
sway  passionate,  living  men?  However,  he  rose  with 
the  best  assurance  he  could  muster. 

"I  have  only  one  thing  to  say,"  he  began,  conscious 
of  the  feebleness  of  his  words.  "John  Gaviller  is  a  sick 
man.  I  have  seen  the  doctor.  You  cannot  fight  a 
sick  man.  I  say  do  not  accept  his  price — do  not  re- 
fuse it.  The  grain  is  not  ripe  yet.  Wait  till  he  is 
well." 

A  murmur  of  dissent  went  around  the  room.  Am- 
brose being  a  stranger,  there  was  a  note  of  polite- 
ness in  it. 

Jean  Bateese  sprang  to  his  feet  again.  "Ambrose 
Doane  say  wait!"  he  said.  "He  is  good  man.  We 
lak  him.  But  me,  I  am  sick  of  waiting! 

"To-day  we  hear  John   Gaviller  is   sick.     All  are 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  109 

sorry.  All  forget  we  have  trouble  wit'  him.  We  wait 
to  hear  how  he  is.  Wa !  he  say  to  us  right  out  of  his 
bed  dollar-fifty  or  starve!  Why  should  we  wait  till 
he  get  well?  He  does  not  wait!" 

Another  man,  a  burly,  purple-cheeked  son  of  earth, 
took  up  the  harangue  at  the  point  where  Jean  Bateese 
dropped  it.  This  was  Jack  Mackenzie,  Simon  said. 

"Me,  I  am  sick  of  waiting,  too !"  he  cried.  "Al- 
ways we  wait,  and  John  Gaviller  do  what  he  like !  Why 
he  put  down  the  price  of  grain?  Why  he  do  every- 
thing? It  is  to  keep  us  in  his  debt.  We  can  work 
till  our  backs  break,  but  he  fix  it  so  we  are  still  in 
debt. 

"Because  we  can  do  not'ing  when  we  are  in  his  debt. 
We  are  his  slaves !  We  got  to  break  our  slave  chains. 
It  is  time  to  act.  Now  I  say  out  loud  what  all  are 
whispering :  let  us  burn  the  store !" 

Thirty  men  took  a  sharp  breath  between  their 
teeth.  There  was  a  little  silence;  then  quick  cries 
of  approval  broke  out.  The  meeting  was  with  the 
speaker. 

Ambrose,  thinking  of  Colina,  turned  a  little  sick 
with  apprehension.  Simon  rose  to  still  the  noise,  but 
Mackenzie  held  the  floor. 

"I  know  w'at  Simon  Grampierre  goin'  to  say!"  he 
cried,  pointing.  "He  goin'  to  say  if  you  break  the 
law  you  fix  yourselves.  They  send  many  police  and 
put  you  all  in  jail.  Simon  Grampierre  got  good  prop- 
erty. He  not  want  lose  it. 

"Me,  I  say  all  right!  I  go  to  jail.  There  is  a 
trial.  Everything  got  come  out.  John  Gaviller  he 
cannot  make  slaves  after  that.  I  say  let  them  send 
me  to  jail.  My  children  will  be  free!" 

The  meeting  went  wild  at  this.  Simon  had  lost 
control.  Even  his  own  sons,  as  could  be  read  in  their 
faces,  sympathized  with  the  speakers.  The  old  man  be- 


110  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

trayed  nothing  in  his  face.  He  stood  like  a  rock  until 
he  could  get  a  hearing. 

"Jack  Mackenzie  say  I  rich,"  he  said  proudly.  "Say 
I  think  of  my  property  first.  I  now  say  whatever 
we  do,  we  do  together.  We  will  decide  by  vote.  If 
you  vote  to  burn  the  store  I  will  put  the  fire  to  it  my- 
self!" 

They  cheered  him  to  the  echo.  Some  cried:  "Burn 
the  store!"  Some  cried:  "Vote!"  By  this  move  Si- 
mon captured  their  attention  again.  He  held  up  a 
hand  for  silence. 

"Wait !"  he  said.  "I  have  a  little  more  to  say.  Jack 
Mackenzie  say  we  got  to  break  our  chains.  Those  are 
true  words!  But  how?  If  we  burn  the  store  we  only 
rivet  them  tighter. 

"Gaviller  will  cry  these  are  bad  men  and  lawbreak- 
ers. These  are  incendiaries!  It  is  a  word  the  white 
men  hate.  They  will  say  do  what  you  like  to  the 
incendiaries.  They  deserve  no  better." 

The  strange  word  intimidated  them.  But  a  voice 
cried  defiantly :  "Must  we  wait  some  more?"  And  their 
cries  threatened  to  down  the  old  man. 

"No !"  he  cried  in  a  voice  that  silenced  them.  "Here 
is  Ambrose  Doane !"  He  paused  for  dramatic  effect. 

"I  ask  Ambrose  Doane  to  our  meeting  to  talk  with 
us.  I  now  say  to  him" — he  turned  to  Ambrose — "you 
have  heard  these  men.  They  are  so  much  wronged 
they  cannot  see  the  right.  They  are  so  mad  they 
don't  know  what  they  do. 

"I  ask,  Ambrose  Doane,  will  you  save  them  from 
their  madness?  Will  you  help  us  break  our  chains? 
Buy  our  grain?** 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    PLAN    OF    CAMPAIGN. 

AN  absolute  silence  followed  Simon  Grampierre's 
unexpected  words.  The  astute  old  man  had  withheld 
his  proposal  until  the  psychological  moment.  Ambrose 
was  a  little  dazed  by  it.  He  rose,  feeling  every  eager 
eye  upon  him,  and  said  slowly: 

"I  must  have  a  little  time  to  consider.  I  must  talk 
with  Simon  Grampierre.  I  will  give  him  my  answer 
before  morning." 

Simon  said  to  the  company:  "Men,  will  you  sell 
your  wheat  to  Ambrose  Doane  at  a  dollar-seventy- 
five?" 

The  question  broke  the  spell  of  silence.  There  could 
be  no  mistake  that  the  proposal  was  successful.  A 
chorus  of  acclamations  filled  the  room. 

"Very  good!"  said  Simon.  "I  will  talk  with  Am- 
brose Doane  and  try  to  make  him  trade  with  us." 

The  meeting  broke  up.  It  was  then  a  little  after 
nine. 

Simon  and  Ambrose  went  apart  to  a  bench  on  the 
river  bank.  There  were  innumerable  questions  to  be 
asked  and  answered.  Simon  estimated  that  the  grain 
in  question,  provided  they  had  no  frost,  would  amount 
to  twenty  thousand  bushels  of  wheat,  and  half  as  much 
oats.  It  was  a  momentous  decision  for  a  youth  like 
Ambrose  to  be  called  upon  to  make. 

The  greatest  difficulty  was  how  to  grind  the  wheat. 

"You  have  an  engine  here?"  asked  Ambrose. 

"Yes,  for  our  thrashing-machine,"  said   Simon. 

"I  could  order  a  small  process  mill  from  outside," 
said  Ambrose,  "but  it's  doubtful  if  we  could  get  it  in 
this  year." 

Ill 


112  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"I  have  a  hand  mill,"  said  Simon.  "We  call  her  the 
mankiller.  Work  all  day,  grind  a  couple  bags  of 
flour.  It  is  very  old." 

"Could  it  be  rigged  to  the  engine?"  Ambrose  asked. 

"Wa!  I  never  think  of  that,"  said  Simon.  "May- 
be grind  four  bags  a  day,  then." 

Ambrose  had  no  intention  of  giving  an  answer  until 
he  had  communicated  with  Colina.  Strongly  against 
Simon's  advice,  he  insisted  that  Gaviller,  as  he  said, 
must  be  given  one  more  chance  to  relent.  Simon 
unwillingly  yielded.  At  ten  o'clock  Ambrose  and  Tole 
started  down  the  river  in  a  dugout. 

Ambrose  did  not  mean  to  seek  the  interview  with 
Colina.  Before  starting  he  scribbled  a  hasty  note. 

DEAR  COLINA: 

The  farmers  have  asked  me  to  buy  their  grain. 
I've  got  to  do  it  unless  you  will  pay  their  price.  It's1 
not  much  good  to  say  it  now,  but  I'd  sooner  cut  off  my 
hand  than  seem  to  be  fighting  you. 

I  can't  help  myself.  You  won't  believe  it,  but  it's 
a  fact  just  the  same,  if  you  won't  pay  their  price 
I  must,  in  order  to  save  you.  If  you  will  agree  to  pay 
them  one-seventy-five,  I'll  go  back  to  Moultrie  to-mor- 
row, and  never  trouble  you  again.  AMBROSE. 

Landing  below  Gaviller's  house  Ambrose  sent  Tole 
up  the  bank  with  this.  In  a  surprisingly  short  time 
he  saw  the  half-breed  returning. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,"  said  Tole. 

"Did  she  send  an  answer  back?'* 

"Only  this." 

Ambrose  held  out  his  hand,  and  Tole  dropped  the 
torn  fragments  of  his  own  letter  into  it.  Ambrose 
stared  at  them  stupidly.  He  had  steeled  himself 
against  a  possible  humiliation  at  her  hands — but  to  be 
humiliated  before  the  half-breed ! 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  113 

He  drew  a  long  breath  to  steady  himself,  and  open- 
ing his  hand,  let  the  fragments  float  away  on  the  cur- 
rent. 

"Let  us  go  back,"  he  said  quietly. 

During  the  whole  of  the  way  he  did  not  speak. 

Grampierre  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  big  kitchen. 

"I  will  now  give  you  my  answer,"  said  Ambrose. 

"Well?"  said  the  old  man  eagerly. 

"It  is  only  a  partial  answer.  I  agree  to  purchase 
enough  of  your  grain  at  one-seventy-five  to  see  you 
all  through  the  winter;  and  I  agree  to  bring  a  stock 
of  goods  here  to  supply  your  necessities." 

Simon  warmly  grasped  his  hand.  "It  is  well!"  he 
cried.  "I  expected  no  more." 

"I  will  return  to  Moultrie  to-morrow,"  Ambrose 
went  on  in  his  dull,  quiet  way.  "I  will  consult  with 
my  partner,  and  if  we  can  finance  it,  we  will  buy  all 
your  grain." 

"Tole  shall  go  with  you,"  said  Simon.  "You  can 
send  him  back  to  me  with  a  letter." 

Ambrose  went  to  bed,  and  slept  without  dreaming. 
Nature  is  merciful.  After  a  certain  point  of  suffer- 
ing has  been  passed,  she  administers  an  anesthetic. 

Next  morning  Ambrose  transacted  his  business  with 
Simon,  and  prepared  for  the  journey,  to  all  appear- 
ances his  usual  matter-of-fact  self. 

Only  Job  perceived  the  subtle  change  in  his  master. 
The  faithful  brown  eyes  continually  sought  Ambrose's 
face,  and  the  ridiculous  curly  tail  was  agitated  in  vain 
to  induce  a  smile. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day  following,  Am- 
brose and  Tole  landed  at  Moultrie.  Nothing  was 
changed  there.  The  sight  of  Peter's  honest  red  face 
was  like  balm  to  Ambrose's  sore  heart. 

Seeing  Ambrose,  the  remnants  of  Peter's  anger 
evaporated  like  mist  in  the  sun.  He  clapped  his  young 


114  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

partner   on    the   back   until    the   other's    lungs   rang. 

Peter's  blue  eyes  beamed  with  honest  gladness,  mean- 
while he  uttered  loud  abuse  in  his  own  style. 

"So  you're  back,  damn  you !  You  ornery  little  whip- 
per-snapper! To  sneak  off  from  working  like  a  breed 
after  you  feed  him!  I  was  hoping  I'd  never  lay  eyes 
on  you  again.  But  here  you  are  to  plague  me !" 

Ambrose  smiled  sheepishly,  and  gripped  his  hand. 

Peter  sent  Tole  off  to  Eva  to  be  fed,  while  he  went 
with  Ambrose  to  the  latter's  little  shack.  Ambrose 
looked  around  his  own  place  curiously.  It  was  like  an- 
other man's  house  now.  He  had  lost  the  old  self  who 
used  to  live  here. 

"What's  happened  to  you?"  asked  Peter  with  an 
offhand  air. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  Ambrose  quickly.  He 
hated  to  think  it  was  all  written  in  his  face. 

"You  look  older,"  said  Peter.  "I  don't  see  you 
grinning  so  much." 

Ambrose  immediately  grinned — after  a  fashion. 
"I've  got  a  lot  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "We'll  talk  after 
supper." 

Half  the  night  they  talked.  Ambrose  laid  his  pro- 
posal before  Peter  in  anxious  trepidation.  Peter  earned 
the  young  man's  lifelong  gratitude  by  the  promptness 
and  heartiness  of  his  response. 

"You  did  right!"  he  cried  with  another  clap  on  the 
back.  "It  will  be  a  fine  adventure!  We'll  go  into 
Fort  Enterprise  and  make  a  killing!  We'll  buy  all 
the  grain  in  sight!" 

"It's  a  big  weight  to  swing,"  murmured  Ambrose. 

"Sure!"  cried  Peter.  "But  no  man  would  refuse 
it.  What  if  it  does  break  us?  We're  young.  And! 
we'll  have  a  grand  run  for  our  money." 

The  excess  of  Ambrose's  relief  unnerved  him  a 
little.  "Peter,  you're  a  man !"  he  murmured  brokenly. 
"I  was  near  crazy,  wondering  if  you'd  stand  by  me!" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  115 

"Hey,  cut  it  out!'*  cried  Peter.  "Buck  up!  We 
got  work  to  do  to-night!" 

Throughout  the  hours  of  darkness  they  counted  up 
their  resources,  decided  as  to  the  friends  they  could 
call  on  for  assistance,  and  planned  ways  and  means. 

There  was  not  a  day  to  be  lost,  and  it  was  first  of 
all  decided  that  Ambrose  must  start  for  the  outside 
world  next  morning.  Once  started  he  would  be  out 
of  touch  with  his  partner  for  good,  therefore  every 
question  had  to  be  discussed  that  night,  and  there 
were  a  hundred. 

Ambrose  was  astonished  by  Peter's  pluck  and  dash 
in  business  affairs.  Like  many  another  junior  partner 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  patronize  his  elder  a  little. 

"I'll  stand  by  you  to  the  limit,"  Peter  had  said. 
"But  this  is  your  put.  You  must  do  everything  your- 
self." 

Therefore,  after  the  details  had  been  arranged,  it 
fell  to  Ambrose  to  compose  the  letter  to  Simon  Gram- 
pierre.  It  was  the  longest  letter  he  had  ever  writ- 
ten. 

Tole  and  I  arrived  yesterday  after  a  quick  trip. 
I  have  talked  with  my  partner.  We  agree  to  purchase 
all  the  grain  grown  around  Port  Enterprise  this  sea- 
son at  one-seventy-five  per  bushel. 

We  will  load  up  a  york  boat  immediately  with  a 
small  load  of  supplies  for  present  use.  Tole  will  steer 
it  up  the  river.  He  will  take  this  letter  to  you.  It 
may  take  four  or  five  days  to  get  a  crew. 

(Here  followed  an  inventory  of  the  goods  they  had 
decided  to  send. 

We  appoint  you  our  agent  to  distribute  these  goods. 
I  will  send  you  a  book  in  which  to  put  down  all  the 
charges.  Let  the  crew  of  the  york  boat  have  two  dug- 


116  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

outs  to  return  home  in,  and  keep  the  york  boat  at 
your  place  to  send  down  grain  and  flour  later. 

I  have  missed  the  steamboat  on  her  first  trip  out. 
I  will  start  to-day  b}'  canoe  with  an  Indian.  It  will 
take  me  ten  days  to  cross  the  lake  and  go  up  the 
Miwasa  to  the  landing  and  so  to  town. 

I  will  order  a  full  outfit  in  town,  and  bring  it  in 
immediately  by  way  of  Caribou  Lake,  and  down  stream 
to  you.  I  will  bring  a  little  process  mill  if  I  can  get 
one.  If  I  have  no  trouble  you  will  see  me  about  the 
first  of  September.  Anyway  I  will  be  in  before  the  ice 
begins  to  run. 

Coming  back  I  will  have  no  trouble  going  up  the 
Miwasa  or  Musquasepi  or  across  Caribou  Lake,  be- 
cause Martin  Sellers  has  steamboats  there,  and  he  is 
independent  and  friendly  to  us.  They  can't  stop 
me  on  the  Spirit  River  either,  because  I  can  build 
a  raft  and  bring  my  stuff  down. 

Where  they  will  try  to  get  me  is  on  the  portage  be- 
tween Caribou  Lake  and  the  Spirit.  They  will  try  to 
tie  up  the  teams.  On  my  way  out  I  will  see  Martin 
Sellers  about  it.  He  has  power. 

As  soon  as  the  grain  is  begun  to  be  thrashed  start 
the  mankiller  going  to  try  and  get  a  little  ahead  with 
the  flour. 

Send  Tole  and  another  good  man  in  a  dugout  up  to 
the  crossing  to  meet  me.  Let  them  start  August  8. 

I  am  sending  by  Tole  two  bottles  of  Madeira  wine. 
Send  it  to  the  sick  man  at  the  fort  without  letting  him 
know  it  comes  from  me.  For  yourself  Peter  Minot 
sends  a  box  of  cigars  with  his  compliments. 

If  I  think  of  anything  else  I'll  write  at  the  landing 
and  send  it  in  by  the  August  mail.  My  regards  to  the 
boys. 

Yours  truly, 

AMBROSE  DOANE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COLINA    COMMANDS. 

ON  August  25,  well  within  his  schedule,  Ambrose  ar- 
rived at  Spirit  River  Crossing  with  ten  loaded  wagons. 

For  six  long  days  they  had  been  floundering  through 
the  bottomless  mudholes  of  the  portage  trail  and  men 
and  horses  were  alike  played  out ;  but  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  come  was  easy,  and  Ambrose  paid  off  his  driv- 
ers with  a  light  heart. 

The  york  boat  and  crew  he  had  engaged  at  the 
crossing  were  non-existent,  and  no  explanation  forth- 
coming. He  had  met  with  similar  small  reverses  all 
along  the  line.  This  one  was  not  important ;  it  meant 
three  days  delay  to  build  a  raft. 

There  was  a  current  of  nearly  four  miles  an  hour 
to  carry  him  to  his  destination,  and  no  rapids  in  the 
three  hundred  miles  to  endanger  his  cargo. 

Tole  Gmmpierre  and  his  brother  Gerfmain  w*ere 
waiting  for  Ambrose.  With  two  such  aides  he  could 
afford  to  smile  at  the  mysterious  scarcity  of  labor 
which  developed  on  his  arrival. 

Tole's  budget  of  news  from  down  the  river  con- 
tained nothing  startling.  John  Gaviller  had  been 
very  sick  all  summer  with  pneumonia  as  a  result  of 
his  wound.  He  was  getting  better;  "pale  and  skinny 
as  an  old  rabbit  in  the  snow,"  in  Tole's  words. 

Gaviller  had  sent  up  the  launch  to  get  what  grain 
had  been  grown  at  the  crossing;  but  it  was  not  enough 
to  fill  his  contracts  for  flour  up  north.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  pay  two  dollars  a  bushel  for  it.  Ambrose 
smiled  at  this  piece  of  information. 

Ambrose  waited  eagerly  for  some  word  of  her  who 
117 


118  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

was  seldom  out  of  his  thoughts,  but  to  Tole  the 
matter  was  not  of  such  great  importance.  Ambrose 
could  not  bring  himself  to  name  her  name.  Not  until 
Tole  had  covered  everything  else  did  he  say  casually : 

<cColina  Gaviller  rides  all  around  on  her  yellow 
horse.  She  is  proud  now.  Never  speaks  to  the  peo- 
ple." 

That  was  all.  Ambrose's  heart  stirred  with  com- 
passion for  the  one,  who  by  her  loyalty  was  forced 
to  embrace  the  wrong  cause. 

Another  time  Tole  remarked:  "Gordon  Strange  run 
the  store  all  summer." 

"So!w  said  Ambrose.  "What  do  the  people  say 
about  him?  What  does  your  father  say?" 

Tole  shrugged.  "He  say  not'ing,"  he  said  cautious- 
ly. He  could  not  be  induced  to  commit  himself  further 
in  this  direction. 

They  built  their  raft,  and  loading  up,  started  with- 
out untoward  incident.  Traveling  day  and  night,  al- 
lowing for  stoppages  and  delays,  they  expected  to  be 
nearly  five  days  on  the  way. 

On  the  third  day,  Ambrose  chafing  at  their  slow 
progress,  put  the  dugout  overboard,  and  set  off  ahead 
to  warn  the  settlement  of  their  coming.  He  had  no 
hesitation  leaving  the  raft  with  the  Grampierre  boys; 
they  could  handle  it  better  than  himself. 

He  paddled  all  day,  and  at  night  cut  down  a  tree 
so  that  it  would  fall  in  the  water,  and  tied  his  canoe 
to  it,  that  he  might  not  be  blown  ashore  while  he  slept. 

For  hours  he  lay  waiting  for  sleep,  watching  the 
stars  circle  round  his  head  as  his  canoe  was  swung 
in  the  eddies,  and  considering  his  situation. 

He  could  not  rest  for  his  eagerness  to  be  at  the  end 
of  his  journey,  though  he  had  no  hope  of  what  awaited 
there — that  is  to  say  not  much  hope;  there  is  always 
a  perhaps. 

But  how  could  Colina  relent  when   she  beheld  him 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  119 

arriving  laden  with  ammunition  to  make  war  upon 
her?  Ambrose  wondered  sadly  if  any  lover  before  him 
ever  found  himself  in  such  a  plight. 

By  ten  o'clock  next  morning  he  was  within  a  mile  or 
two  of  Grampierre's  place.  The  river  was  dazzling  in 
the  morning  sunlight,  the  air  like  wine. 

The  poplar  trees  had  put  on  their  gorgeous  autumn 
dress  of  saffron  and  scarlet,  which  showed  like  flames 
against  the  chocolate  colored  hills.  Suddenly  in  a 
grassy  ravine  on  his  right,  Ambrose  saw  the  "yellow" 
horse  feeding. 

His  heart  set  up  a  furious  beating.  No  power  on 
earth  could  have  prevented  him  from  landing,  though 
common  sense  told  him  clearly  no  good  could  come  of 
it.  That  "perhaps"  drew  him  ashore,  that  hope 
against  hope. 

After  a  short  search  he  found  her  sleeping  under 
a  poplar-tree  in  a  hollow  of  the  bank  that  was  hid- 
den from  the  river. 

She  wore  her  khaki  riding-habit,  as  usual;  her  head 
was  couched  in  the  crook  of  her  arm,  and  in  the  other 
hand  she  held  her  Stetson  hat  by  its  strap.  Ambrose 
brooded  over  her  wistfully. 

Her  face  was  paler  and  thinner;  evidently  she  her- 
self had  not  been  having  too  easy  a  time  these  two 
months  past. 

These  blemishes  on  her  beauty  made  her  seem  in- 
finitely more  beautiful  and  dearer  to  him.  And  all  re- 
laxed and  disarmed  in  sleep  as  she  was,  it  seemed  so 
easy  a  thing  to  gather  her  up  in  his  arms  and  make 
her  forget  what  divided  them. 

Ambrose's  dim  thought  was:  "If  somehow  I  could 
only  send  her  real  self  a  message  while  her  head- 
strong, unreasonable  self  is  asleep,  maybe  she'd  con- 
fess the  truth  when  she  woke." 

While  he  was  hungrily  gazing  at  her  her  eyelids 
fluttered.  He  moved  back  to  a  more  respectful  dis- 


120  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

tance.  She  awoke  without  alarm.  For  an  instant  she 
lay  looking  at  him  as  calmly  as  a  babe  in  its  crib. 

Then  in  a  flash  recollection  returned,  and  she  sprang 
to  a  sitting  position,  both  hands,  womanlike,  flying  to 
her  hair.  She  eyed  him  with  a  certain  discomposure. 
It  was  as  if  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  furiously 
angry,  and  was  somewhat  dismayed  because  it  did 
not  come. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  coldly. 

In  her  cold  eye  Ambrose  was  conscious  of  a  wall 
between  them  more  impenetrable  than  granite.  His 
heart  gave  up  hope.  "Nothing,'*  he  said  sullenly. 

"It's  not  exactly  agreeable,"  she  said,  frowning,  "to 
find  oneself  spied  upon." 

Ambrose  started  and  frowned.  This  construction 
of  his  act  had  not  occurred  to  him.  "I  saw  Ginger 
from  the  river,"  he  said  indignantly.  "I  landed  to  find 
you." 

"What  did  you  want?"  she  asked  coolly. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ambrose. 

There  was  a  silence  between  them.  Her  cold  look 
told  him  to  go.  Pride  and  common  sense  both  urged 
him  to  obey — but  he  could  not.  He  was  like  a  bit  of 
iron  filing  in  the  presence  of  a  magnet. 

"I — I  suppose  I  wanted  to  find  out  how  you  were," 
he  said  at  last.  "Was  that  so  extraordinary?" 

She  ignored  the  question.     "I  am  well,"  she  said. 

"How  is  your  father?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  levelly  and  did  not  answer. 

A  slow  red  crept  up  from  Ambrose's  neck.  "I  asked 
you  a  civil  question,"  he  muttered. 

"If  you  want  a  truthful  answer,"  said  Colina  clear- 
ly, "I  think  you  have  a  cheek  to  ask." 

"I  didn't  shoot  him !"  Ambrose  burst  out. 

"What  is  the  use  of  our  bandying  words  ?"  she  asked 
with  cold  scorn.  "Nothing  you  can  say  to  me  or  I  to 
you  can  help  matters  now." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  121 

"Good  Lord,  but  women  can  be  stony !"  Ambrose 
cried  involuntarily. 

Colina  took  it  as  a  compliment.  Her  eye  brightened 
with  a  kind  of  pride.  "I  don't  know  what  men  are!" 
she  cried.  "Apparently  you  want  to  fight  me  with 
one  hand  and  hold  the  other  out  in  friendship.  Only 
a  man  could  think  of  such  a  thing." 

Ambrose  gazed  at  her  sullenly.  "You  are  right !" 
he  said  abruptly.  "I  am  a  fool!" 

-He  left  her  with  his  head  up,  but  inwardly  beaten 
and  sore.  Somehow  she  had  got  the  better  of  him,  he 
could  not  have  told  how.  He  was  conscious  of  having 
intended  honestly.  This  cold  parting  was  worse  than 
the  most  violent  of  quarrels. 

Simon  Grampierre  was  waiting  on  a  point  of  his  land 
that  commanded  a  view  up  and  down  river.  Here 
he  had  set  up  a  lookout  bench  like  that  at  the  fort. 
At  sight  of  Ambrose  he  shouted  from  a  full  breast  and 
hastened  down  to  the  waterside.  He  received  him  with 
both  hands  extended. 

"You  have  come  !"  he  cried.     "It  is  well !" 

Ambrose  was  surprised  and  a  little  disconcerted 
to  see  the  grim  old  patriarch  so  moved. 

"Where  is  your  outfit?"  Simon  asked  anxiously. 

"Half  a  day  behind  me,"  said  Ambrose.  "It  is 
safe." 

"Have  you  flour?"  asked  Simon. 

"Flour?  No !"  said  Ambrose  staring.  "With  twenty 
thousand  bushels  of  wheat  here?" 

"Have  you  got  a  little  mill?" 

Ambrose  shook  his  head.  "There  was  none  in  Prince 
George,"  he  said.  "I  had  to  telegraph  to  the  East. 
It  had  not  arrived  when  I  was  ready  to  start,  and 
I  couldn't  wait. 

"I  made  arrangements  for  it  to  be  forwarded ;  a 
friend  of  mine  will  bring  it  in.  Martin  Sellers  prom- 


122  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

ised  to  hold  the  last  boat  at  the  landing  until  October 
1st  for  it." 

"Wa!"  said  Simon,  raising  his  hands.  "That  is 
bad!  We  need  flour.  We  cannot  wait  a  month  for 
flour." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  mankiller?" 

"Broke,"  was  the  laconic  answer.  "We  fix  it.  Every 
day  it  break  again.  Now  it  is  all  broke." 

"Well,  every  family  will  have  to  grind  for  them- 
selves," said  Ambrose. 

Simon  shrugged.     "We  have  a  new  trouble  here." 

"What  is  it?"  Ambrose  anxiously  demanded. 

"The  Kakisa  Indians,"  Simon  said.  "They  are  the 
biggest  tribe  around  this  post,  and  the  best  fur  bring- 
ers.  They  live  beside  the  Kakisa  River,  hundred  fifty 
miles  northwest. 

"All  summer  they  come  in  two  or  six  or  twenty  and 
get  a  little  flour,  little  sugar,  tea,  tobacco  from  me. 
They  want  to  trade  with  you  because  Gaviller  is  hard 
to  them  like  us.  They  are  good  hunters,  but  he  keep 
them  poor. 

"In  the  late  summer  they  come  all  together  to  get 
a  fall  outfit.  They  are  here  now.  They  want  a  hun- 
dred bags  of  flour.  They  come  to  me.  I  say  I  have 
got  no  flour.  They  go  to  the  fort. 

"Gaviller  say :  'Ambrose  Doane  bought  all  the  grain. 
You  want  to  trade  with  him;  all  right.  Make  him 
sell  you  flour  now." 

"They  are  here  a  week  now — sixty  teepees.  I  feed 
them  what  I  can.  It  is  not  much.  They  are  ongry. 
They  begin  to  talk  ugly." 

Ambrose  would  not  let  Simon  see  that  he  was  in  any 
way  dismayed  by  this  situation.  "Where  are  the 
Indians  camped?"  he  asked  coolly. 

"Mile  and  a  half  down  river.  Across  from  the 
fort." 

"Very   well,"    said   Ambrose.      "Tell   them   at   your 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

house  to  keep  watch  here  until  Tole  and  Germain  come 
with  the  raft.  Six  men  should  be  ready  to  help  them 
land  and  unload.  You  come  with  me  in  the  dugout, 
and  we  will  go  down  and  talk  to  the  Indians." 

A  gleam  of  approval  shot  from  under  Simon's  beetle 
brows.  "Good!"  he  said.  "You  go  straight  to  a 
thing.  I  like  that,  me!" 

Ambrose  found  the  teepee  village  set  up  in  the  form 
of  a  square  on  a  grassy  flat  beside  the  river.  The 
quadrangle  was  filled  with  the  usual  confusion  of  loose 
horses,  quarrelsome  dogs,  and  screaming  children. 

Simon  called  his  attention  to  a  teepee  in  the  midle 
of  the  northerly  side  distinguished  by  its  size  and  bj 
gaudy  paintings  on  the  canvas. 

"Head  man's  lodge,"  he  said.  "Name  Joey  Prori- 
dence  Watusk." 

"A  good  mouthful,"  said  Ambrose. 

"Joey  for  English,  Providence  for  French,  Watusk 
for  Kakisa,"  explained  Simon. 

He  called  a  boy  to  him,  and  made  him  understand 
that  they  wished  to  see  the  head  man. 

"I  send  a  message  that  we  are  coming,"  he  explained 
to  Ambrose.  "He  lak  to  be  treated  lak  big  man.  It 
is  no  harm  when  you  are  trading  with  them." 

Ambrose  agreed.  "So  this  what's-his-name  fancies 
himself,"  he  remarked  while  they  waited. 

"It  is  so,"  said  Simon,  grimly.  "Thinks  he  is  a 
king !  All  puff  up  with  wind  lak  a  bull  frog.  He  mak* 
me  mad  with  his  foolishness.  What  would  you?  You 
cannot  deal  with  the  Kakisas  only  what  he  say.  Be- 
cause only  Watusk  speaks  English.  He  does  what  he 
wants." 

"And  can  nobody  here  speak  Kakisa?"  Ambrose 
asked. 

"Nobody  but  Gordon  Strange.  It  is  hard  talk  on  the 
tongue." 

"What  else  about  him?" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Wa!  I  have  told  you,"  said  Simon.  "You  will 
know  him  when  you  see!  All  tarn  show  off  lak  a  cock- 
grouse  in  mating-time.  He  is  not  Kakisa.  He  is  a 
Cree  who  went  with  them  long  tain  ago.  Some  say 
his  father  was  a  black  man." 

"So!"  said  Ambrose.     "And  they  stand  for  that?" 

Simon  shrugged.  "The  Kakisas  a  funny  people. 
Not  mix  with  the  whites,  not  mix  with  other  Indians 
lak  Crees.  They  keep  old  ways.  They  not  talk  about 
their  ways  to  other  men.  So  nobody  knows  what  they 
do  at  home."  Simon  lowered  his  voice.  "Some  say 
cannibals." 

"Pooh!"  said  Ambrose,  "that  yarn  is  told  about 
every  strange  tribe!" 

"Maybe,"  said  Simon,  cautiously.  "I  do  not  know 
myself." 

The  Indian  boy  returning,  signified  that  Joey  Provi- 
dence Watusk  awaited  them. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    STAFF    OF    LIFE. 

LIFTING  the  blind  over  the  entrance,  Ambrose  dived 
inside  the  teepee,  Simon  Grampierre  at  his  heels.  In 
the  center  a  small  fire  burned  on  the  ground,  and  behind 
it  sat  five  dark-skinned  figures  in  a  semicircle. 

Not  one  of  the  five  faces  changed  a  muscle  at  their 
entrance.  The  principal  man  with  a  grave  inclination 
of  the  head,  waved  them  a  blanket  which  had  been 
placed  for  them  opposite  him. 

It  was  like  an  old-time  Indian  council,  but  the  pic- 
turesqueness  was  a  good  deal  spoiled  by  the  gingham 
shirts  they  wore,  and  the  ill-fitting  coats  and  trousers 
from  the  store. 

Moreover,  the  red  men's  pipes,  instead  of  the  grace- 
ful calumets  were  English  briars  with  showy  silver 
bands.  The  bowl  of  Watusk's  pipe,  of  which  he  ap- 
peared to  be  inordinately  proud,  was  roughly  carved 
into  the  likeness  of  a  death's  head. 

Watusk  was  an  extraordinary  figure.  Ambrose  was 
reminded  of  a  quack  doctor  in  poor  circumstances.  He 
was  middle-aged  and  flabby,  and  had  long,  straggling 
gray  hair,  bound  round  with  a  cotton  fillet,  none  too 
clean. 

He  wore  a  frock  coat  all  buttoned  up  before,  each 
button  constricting  his  fat,  with  a  bulge  between. 
His  trousers  were  made  from  a  blanket  once  white, 
with  a  wide  black  band  around  the  calf  of  each  leg,  and 
he  wore  fine  doeskin  moccasins,  richly  embroidered 
with  silk. 

His  dirty  fingers  displayed  a  quantity  of  brass  rings 
from  the  store,  set  with  gems  of  colored  glass.  His 

125 


126  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

heavy,  loose-featured  face  was  unremarkable,  except 
for  the  extraordinarily  bright,  quick,  shallow  eyes, 
suggesting  at  different  moments  the  eyes  of  a  child,  an 
animal,  and  a  madman. 

His  skin  showed  a  tinge  of  yellow  as  distinguished 
from  the  pure  copper  of  his  companions,  and  Ambrose 
was  reminded  of  the  black  man. 

Watusk  grandiloquently  introduced  his  four  com- 
panions. "My  councilors,"  he  said :  "Toma,  minister  of 
state;  Lookoovar,  minister  of  war;  Mahtsonza,  min- 
ister of  interior ;  Tatateecha,  minister  of  medicine." 

Thus  their  uncouth  names  as  Ambrose  got  them. 
He  avoided  Simon's  eye,  and  bit  his  lip  to  keep  from 
laughing.  The  four  were  all  small  men  with  the  fine 
characteristic  faces  of  pure  bred  savages. 

They  understood  not  a  word  of  what  was  said, 
but  preserved  an  unshakable  gravity  throughout.  Am- 
brose, as  they  were  named,  christened  them  anew,  ac- 
cording to  their  several  characteristics:  Coyote, 
Moose,  Bear  and  Weasel. 

The  last  was  a  little  shriveled  creature,  hung  with 
charms  and  amulets  in  tobacco  bags  until  he  looked 
like  a  scarecrow.  He  had  an  eye  even  wilder  and 
shiftier  than  his  master's. 

"Conjure-man,"  murmured  Simon  in  Ambrose's  ear. 

"Let  Ambrose  Doane  speak,"  said  Watusk.  He 
used  good  English." 

Ambrose  had  adopted  from  Peter  Minbt  the  maxim: 
"Make  the  other  man  speak  first,  and  get  a  line  on 
him."  He  bowed  politely.  "Ambrose  Doane  will  not 
speak  until  Watusk  has  spoken,"  he  said. 

Watusk  highly  gratified,  bowed  again,  and  forth- 
with began.  "I  am  glad  to  see  Ambrose  Doane.  He 
is  good  to  my  eyes  lak  the  green  leaves  in  spring. 
He  is  come  to  Fort  Enterprise  and  there  is  no  more 
winter. 

"The  name  of  Peter  Minot  and  the  name  of  Ambrose 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Doane  make  good  words  to  my  ear.  They  are  the 
friends  of  the  red  men.  They  pay  good  price  for  fur. 
They  sell  outside  goods  cheap.  I  want  a  box  of  cigars 
me,  same  lak  you  send  Simon  Grampierre." 

Ambrose  recognizing  Watusk's  type  was  not  put 
out  by  the  sudden  drop  from  the  sublime  to  the  ri- 
diculous. He  now  had  a  "line"  on  his  man.  Swal- 
lowing his  laughter,  he  answered  in  a  similar  strain. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  Watusk.  I  wish  to  be  his  friend. 
I  come  from  the  big  lake  six  days'  journey  toward  the 
place  of  the  rising  sun.  So  far  as  that  men  tell  me 
of  the  Kakisa  nation,  and  tell  of  Watusk  who  rules 
them. 

"Men  say  the  Kakisa  men  are  the  best  hunters 
of  the  north  and  honest  as  the  sun  in  summer-time. 
Men  say  Watusk  is  a  wise  chief  and  a  good  friend  of 
the  white  men.  I  have  plenty  cigars  in  my  outfit." 

The  chief  swelled  with  gratification  until  his  much- 
tried  buttons  threatened  altogether  to  part  company 
with  his  coat. 

A  good  deal  more  of  this  airy  exchange  was  necessi- 
tated before  Watusk  could  be  induced  to  talk  business. 
When  he  finally  condescended  to  it,  the  story  was  as 
Simon  had  forecast: 

"When  Ambrose  Doane  come  here  I  say  to  my 
people :  'Trade  with  him.  He  will  be  your  father.  He 
will  feed  you.'  Now  when  they  come  for  flour  Simon 
Grampierre  say  you  got  no  flour. 

"When  I  go  to  John  Gaviller  for  flour,  he  mock 
me.  He  say:  'You  take  Ambrose  Doane  for  your 
father.  All  right.  Let  him  feed  you  now.'  So  I 
am  not  know  what  to  do.  Every  day  my  people 
more  ongry,  more  mad. 

"Pretty  soon  the  young  men  make  trouble.  There 
is  no  game  here.  We  can't  stay  here  without  flour. 
We  can't  go  back  without  flour.  I  am  feel  moch  bad. 
But  Ambrose  Doane  is  come  now.  It  is  all  right !" 


128  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  last  of  this  was  delivered  with  something  like 
a  leer,  warning  Ambrose's  subconsciousness  that  Wa- 
tusk,  notwithstanding  the  flowery  compliments,  wished 
him  no  good. 

"I  have  plenty  of  grain,"  he  said  warily.  "Let  each 
woman  grind  for  her  own  family." 

Watusk  shook  his  head.  "Long  tarn  ago  we  got 
stone  bowls  for  grind  wild  rice  in,"  he  said.  "So  many 
years  we  buy  flour  all  the  bowls  is  broke  and  throw 
away  now." 

Ambrose  could  not  deny  to  himself  the  gravity  of  the 
situation.  He  was  reminded  afresh  that  he  was  dealing 
with  a  savage  by  the  subtle,  threatening  note  that 
presently  crept  into  Watusk's  smooth  voice. 

"John  Gaviller  say  to  Gordon  Strange  for  say  to 
me:  'Ambrose  Doane  got  all  the  grain.  Let  Ambrose 
Doane  sell  his  grain  to  me,  and  I  give  you  flour.' ' 

Ambrose,  perceiving  the  drift,  swore  inwardly. 

"Gordon  Strange  tell  that  in  Kakisa  language," 
Watusk  went  on  slyly ;  "some  hear  it  and  tell  the 
others.  All  know  now.  If  my  people  get  more  hungry 
what  can  I  do?  Maybe  my  young  men  steal  the  grain 
and  take  it  to  Gaviller." 

"If  they  lay  hands  on  my  property  they'll  be  shot," 
said  Ambrose,  curtly. 

Watusk  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "Me, 
I  tell  them  that,"  he  said.  "But  they  are  so  mad !" 

"John  Gaviller  is  trying  to  use  you  to  work  his  own 
ends,"  said  Ambrose. 

Watusk  shrugged  indifferently.  This  was  the  real 
man,  Ambrose  thought.  "Maybe  so.  You  got  trouble 
with  Gaviller.  That  is  not  my  trouble.  All  I  want  is 
flour." 

"You  shall  have  it !"  cried  Ambrose  boldly.  "Enough 
to-morrow  morning  to  feed  every  family.  Enough 
in  three  days  to  fill  your  order." 

Watusk  appeared  to  be  a  little  taken  aback,  by  the 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  129 

prompt  granting  of  his  demand.  "Where  you  get  it  ?" 
he  asked. 

"I  Avill  get  it,"  Ambrose  said.     "That  is  enough.'* 

When  Ambrose  and  Simon  got  outside  the  teepee 
Simon  asked  the  same  question:  "Where  will  you  get 
it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ambrose.  "Give  me  time.  I'll 
find  a  way!" 

"If  Gaviller  gets  the  Kakisa  fur  you'll  make  no 
profit  this  year,"  suggested  Simon. 

"I  have  to  consider  other  things  as  well  as  profit," 
Ambrose  said.  "There  are  more  years  to  come." 

Reaching  the  dugout,  Simon  asked:  "Where  now?" 

"To  the  Fort,"  said  Ambrose.  "You  don't  have  to 
come." 

"We  are  together,"  said  Simon  grimly. 

Ambrose,  deeply  moved  by  gratitude,  growled  in- 
articulately. He  felt  himself  young  to  stand  alone 
against  such  powerful  forces 

Crossing  the  river,  they  landed  below  the  big  yellow 
house  and  applied  at  the  side  door  for  Colina.  She  had 
returned  from  her  ride,  they  were  told.  They  were 
shown  into  the  library. 

In  this  little  room  Ambrose  had  already  touched  the 
summit  of  happiness,  and  tasted  despair.  He  hated  it 
now.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  carpet. 

Simon  was  visibly  uneasy  while  they  waited.  "You 
think  this  any  good?"  he  suggested. 

"No,"  said  Ambrose  bitterly.  "I  know  well  enough 
what  I'll  get.  But  I've  got  to  go  through  with  it  be- 
fore taking  the  next  step." 

"John  Gaviller  live  well,"  said  Simon  significantly, 
but  without  bitterness. 

Colina  came  in  with  her  queenliest  air.  She  had 
changed  her  riding  habit  for  clinging  white  draperies 
that  made  her  look  like  a  lovely,  arrogant  saint.  Am- 
brose, raising  his  sullen  eyes  to  her,  experienced  a  new 


130  THE  FUR  BRTNGERS 

shock  of  desire  that  put  the  idea  of  flour  out  of  his 
head. 

To  old  Simon,  Colina  inclined  her  head  as  gracefully 
and  indifferently  as  a  swan.  The  grim  patriarch  be- 
came humble  under  the  spell  of  her  white  beauty.  He 
fingered  his  hat  nervously.  To  Ambrose  Colina  said 
with  subtle  scorn  meant  for  his  ear  alone : 

"What  is  it?" 

Ambrose  screwed  down  the  clamps  of  self-control. 
"I  asked  for  you,"  he  said  stolidly,  "because  I  did  not 
know  if  your  father  was  well  enough  to  talk  business. 
May  I  see  him  for  five  minutes?'* 

"No,"  she  said,  without  condescending  to  explain. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Ambrose.  "It  is  about 
the  Indians  across  the  river.  I  must  have  some  flour 
for  them." 

"Must?"  she  repeated,  raising  her  eyebrows. 

"They  are  suffering  from  hunger,"  he  said  firmly. 

"You  will  have  to  see  Mr.  Strange,"  she  said  coolly. 
"He  is  in  charge  of  the  business." 

"This  is  a  question  for  the  head  to  decide,"  warned 
Ambrose. 

"You  will  have  to  see  Mr.  Strange,"  she  repeated, 
unmoved. 

Ambrose's  eyes  flamed  up.  For  a  moment  the  two 
pairs  contended — Ambrose's  passionate,  Colina's 
steely.  The  man  was  struggling  with  the  atavic  im- 
pulse to  thrash  the  maddening,  arrogant  woman  crea- 
ture into  a  humbler  frame  of  mind. 

It  may  be,  too,  that  deep  in  her  heart  of  hearts 
Colina  desired  something  of  the  kind.  Perhaps  she 
could  not  master  her  worser  self  alone.  Anyhow,  it 
was  impossible  there  in  her  own  stronghold,  with  Simon 
looking  on.  They  were  too  civilized  or  not  civilized 
enough. 

Ambrose  merely  bowed  to  her  and  led  the  way  out 
of  the  room  and  out  of  the  house. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  131 

"Thank  God,  that  is  over !"  he  murmured  outside. 

Crossing  the  square,  they  entered  the  store.  It 
was  the  first  time  Ambrose  had  been  inside  that  famous 
show-place  of  the  north,  but  he  had  no  eyes  for  it 
now.  Gordon  Strange  welcomed  them  with  smiling 
heartiness. 

"Come  in !  Come  in !"  he  cried,  leading  the  way  into 
the  rear  office.  "Sit  down !  Have  a  cigar !" 

The  scowling  Ambrose  stared  as  if  he  thought  the 
man  demented.  He  waved  the  cigar  away  and  came 
directly  to  the  point. 

"I  want  to  find  out  what  you're  willing  to  do  about 
the  Kakisa  Indians." 

"Sure!"  cried  Strange  with  apparently  the  best 
will  in  the  world.  "Sit  down.  What  do  you  pro- 
pose?" 

"How  much  will  you  charge  me  to  grind  me  fire 
hundred  bushels  of  grain  for  them?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Strange.  "The  old  man  won't 
hear  of  it." 

"Will  you  let  them  starve?"  cried  Ambrose. 

"What  can  I  do?"  said  Strange  distressfully.  "I'm 
not  the  head." 

"Grind  it  in  spite  of  him,"  said  Ambrose.  "Hu- 
manity and  prudence  would  both  be  on  your  side. 
You'll  get  their  fur  by  it." 

"I  think  Mr.  Gaviller  expects  to  get  the  fur  anj- 
way,"  said  Strange  with  a  seeming  deprecatory  air — 
but  the  suspicion  of  a  smirk  wreathed  his  full  lips. 

"Then  I  am  to  understand  that  you  refuse  to  grind 
my  grain  at  any  price,"  said  Ambrose. 

"Orders  are  orders,"  murmured  Strange. 

"Has  Gaviller  given  you  this  order  since  he  knew 
the  people  were  hungry?" 

"He  has  told  me  his  mind  many  times.** 

"That  is  not  a  direct  answer.  Some  one  must  take 
the  full  responsibility.  If  I  write  a  short  note  to 


132  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Gaviller  will  you  deliver  it  and  bring  me  back  an 
answer?" 

Strange  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second. 
"Yes,"  he  said. 

Ambrose  wrote  a  succinct  statement  of  the  situation, 
and  Strange  departed. 

"Gaviller  will  never  do  it,"  said  Simon. 

"I  don't  expect  him  to,"  said  Ambrose.  "But  he's 
got  to  commit  himself." 

In  due  course  Strange  returned.  He  offered  Am- 
brose a  note,  still  with  the  deprecating  air.  It  was 
in  Colina's  writing.  Ambrose  read: 

"John  Gaviller  begs  to  inform  Mr.  Ambrose  Doane 
that  the  only  proposal  he  is  willing  to  discuss  will 
be  the  sale  to  him  of  all  the  grain  in  Mr.  Doane's 
possession  at  one  dollar  and  a  half  per  bushel.  In 
such  an  event  he  will  also  be  willing  to  purchase  Mr. 
Doane's  entire  outfit  of  goods  at  cost.  It  will  be  use- 
less for  Mr.  Doane  to  address  him  further  in  any  other 
connection. 

"Enterprise  House,  September  3." 

Ambrose  stood  reflecting  with  the  note  in  his  hand. 
For  a  single  moment  his  heart  failed  him.  His  inex- 
perience was  appalled  by  the  weight  of  the  decision 
he  had  to  make. 

Oh,  for  Peter  Minot's  strong,  humorous  sense  at 
this  crisis !  The  thought  of  Peter  nerved  him.  Peter 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  would  make  good. 
Ambrose  remembered  the  sacrifices  Peter  had  cheer- 
fully made  to  finance  this  expedition. 

To  accept  John  Gaviller's  contemptuous  offer  would 
not  only  be  to  confess  a  humiliating  failure,  it  would 
mean  pocketing  a  loss  that  would  cripple  the  young 
firm  for  the  time  being. 

Peter  would  say:  "Lose  it  if  you  must,  but  lose  it 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  133 

fighting."  This  thought  was  like  an  inspiration  to 
Ambrose.  His  jaw  stiffened,  and  a  measure  of  serenity 
returned  to  his  eyes.  He  passed  the  note  to  Simon. 

"Read  it,"  he  said  coolly,  "and  save  it.  It  may  be 
useful  as  evidence,  later." 

A  subtle  change  passed  over  Gordon  Strange's  face. 
For  the  moment  he  was  pure  Indian.  Quickly  veiling 
his  eyes,  he  asked  with  an  innocent  air:  "What  does 
Mr.  Galliver  say?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Ambrose  to  stomach.  "You 
know  damned  well  what  he  says!"  he  answered  scorn- 
fully. 

Strange  swallowed  it.  "Is  there  any  answer?"  he 
asked. 

"No!'*  said  Ambrose. 

The  half-breed's  curiosity  overcame  his  prudence. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  asked  slyly. 

Ambrose  strode  out  of  the  store  without  answer- 
ing. 

The  two  men  paddled  back  to  Grampierre's  place 
in  silence.  Simon  with  native  tact,  forbore  to  ask  ques- 
tions. Such  is  the  potency  of  the  white  man's  eye 
that  the  leader  of  the  breeds  had  unhesitatingly  yielded 
the  direction  of  affairs  to  the  youth  who  was  little 
more  than  a  third  of  his  age. 

Upon  landing,  Ambrose  pointed  to  the  lookout' 
bench.  "Let  us  sit  there  and  talk,"  he  said. 

"Simon,"  he  said  immediately,  "suppose  it  came  to  a 
fight,  how  many  men  do  you  think  Gaviller  could  count 
on?" 

The  old  man  took  the  question  as  a  matter  of  course. 
"There  is  the  policeman,  the  doctor  and  the  parson," 
he  said.  "The  parson  is  best  for  praying.  There  is 
the  engineer  and  the  captain  of  the  steamboat;  there 
is  young  Duncan  Greer. 

"In  summer  he  is  purser  on  the  steamboat;  in  win- 
ter he  is  the  miller.  That  is  six  white  men.  John 


134  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Gaviller  is  no  good  yet.  There  is  the  crew  of  the 
steamboat,  and  the  men  who  work  for  wages,  maybe 
fifteen  natives,  not  more." 

"What  sort  of  a  man  is  Greer?"  asked  Ambrose. 

"A  lad;  full  of  fun  and  jokes;  a  good  machinist." 

"Where  does  he  sleep  at  the  Fort?" 

"He  has  a  room  in  the  old  quarters.  Gaviller's 
eld  house." 

"Does  he  sleep  alone?" 

"He  does." 

"Simon,"  said  Ambrose,  finally,  "can  you  get  me 
twenty-five  good  men  by  dark;  steady  men  with  cool 
heads,  who  will  do  what  I  tell  them?" 

"I  can,"  said  Simon. 

"Let  them  meet  at  your  hous<?,"  Ambrose  went  on. 
"Let  every  man  carry  his  gun,  but  you  must  see  that 
the  magazines  are  emptied,  and  that  no  man  has 
any  shells  in  his  pocket.  I  will  have  no  shooting. 
Above  all,  do  not  let  the  Indians  know  that  anything 
is  going  on  to-night." 

"It  is  well!"  said  Simon  laconically.  The  old  dark 
eyes  gleamed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A    BLOODLESS    CAPTURE. 

IN  a  more  innocent  state  of  society  such  as  that 
which  exists  in  the  north,  such  a  thing  as  a  night- 
watch  is  undreamed  of.  Insomnia  is  likewise  unknown 
there.  At  eleven  o'clock  every  soul  in  Fort  Enter- 
prise was  drowned  deep  in  slumber. 

There  was  no  light  in  any  window;  the  very  build- 
ings seemed  to  crouch  on  the  earth  as  if  they  slept,  too. 
At  sundown  a  film  of  cloud  had  crept  across  the  sky, 
and  the  moon  was  dark.  It  was  the  very  night  for 
deeds  of  adventure. 

Down  on  the  current  came  a  rakish  york  boat  float- 
ing as  idly  as  a  piece  of  wreckage.  Its  hold  was  filled 
with  bags  of  grain,  on  which  squatted  and  lay  many 
dark  figures  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
bags. 

No  whisper  marked  its  passage;  not  a  pipe-bowl 
glowed.  On  the  little  steering  platform  stood  Simon 
Grampierre  wielding  a  long  sweep  run  through  a  ring 
astern.  The  ring  was  muffled  with  strips  of  cloth. 

Simon  kept  the  craft  straight  in  the  current,  and 
as  they  approached  the  Company  buildings,  gradually 
edged  her  ashore. 

The  dark  steamboat  lay  with  her  nose  drawn  up  on 
a  point  of  stones  below  the  flagstaff.  Steamboat  and 
point  together  caused  a  little  backwater  to  form  be- 
yond, of  which  Simon  was  informed. 

All  he  had  to  do  was  to  urge  the  nose  of  his  boat 
into  it,  and  she  grounded  of  herself  at  the  spot  where 
they  had  chosen  to  land ;  that  is  immediately  below  the 
mills. 

135 


136  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

A  dozen  moccasined  men  let  themselves  softly  into 
the  water,  and  putting  their  backs  under  the  prow 
lifted  her  up  a  little  on  the  stones.  Instantly,  as  if 
by  the  starting  of  a  piece  of  machinery  a  chain  of  bags 
was  started  ashore  from  hand  to  hand. 

Ambrose  and  Tole,  who  was  to  be  engineer,  climbed 
the  bank  to  reconnoiter.  So  far  no  word  had  been 
spoken. 

Above,  along  the  edge  of  the  bank,  were  three  small 
buildings  in  a  line,  close  together.  That  in  the  middle 
was  the  engine  house,  with  the  sawmill  on  the  left  and 
the  flour  mill  on  the  right. 

Ambrose  and  Tole  made  for  the  engine  which  was 
housed  in  a  little  structure  of  corrugated  iron.  The 
door  faced  the  sawmill.  It  was  an  iron  sliding  door, 
fastened  with  hasp  and  padlock. 

Ambrose  inserted  the  point  of  a  crowbar  under  the 
hasp,  and  the  whole  thing  came  away  with  a  single 
metallic  report.  If  any  sleeper  was  awakened  by  the 
sound,  hearing  no  other  sounds,  he  probably  fell 
asleep  again.  Anyhow  no  alarm  was  raised  as  yet. 

Tole  went  back  to  get  assistance  in  carrying  slab? 
into  the  engine  room.  The  sawmill  was  merely  an 
open  shed,  and  there  was  an  abundance  of  fuel  in 
sight. 

The  water  supply,  being  furnished  by  gravity  from 
a  tank  overhead,  was  secure. 

With  the  aid  of  his  electric  torch,  Ambrose  found 
the  belt  to  run  the  flour  mill  in  a  corner  of  the  engine 
room.  So  far  so  good.  His  instructions  to  Tole  were 
simple. 

"Ill  let  you  have  one  man  to  help  you.  If  they 
besiege  us,  I  won't  be  able  to  communicate  with  you. 
Whatever  happens,  keep  the  engine  going.  Store 
enough  slabs  in  here  to  keep  her  going  all  night, 
then  close  the  door,  and  fasten  it  some  way." 

The  flour  mill  was  likewise  built  of  corrugated  iron. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  137 

It  had  two  iron  doors,  one  giving  on  the  road,  fast- 
ened with  a  padlock,  the  other  on  the  river  side,  hooked 
from  within. 

Ambrose  broke  open  the  first,  and  throwing  back 
the  second,  allowed  the  grain  bags  to  be  hustled  in- 
side direct  from  the  beach. 

He  lit  a  lantern,  and  cloaking  it  within  his  coat,  ex- 
amined the  machine.  His  heart  sank  at  the  thought 
of  his  difficulties,  supposing  the  next  step  of  his  plan 
should  fail. 

Ambrose  was  enough  of  a  machinist  to  appreciate 
the  difficulty  of  operating  this  complicated  arrange- 
ment of  wheels  and  rollers  and  frames  by  lantern 
light. 

Taking  five  velvet-footed  men,  he  set  off  around  the 
back  of  the  store,  and  across  the  corner  of  the  square 
to  the  "quarters."  The  building  so  designated  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  side  of  the  square  facing  the 
river. 

It  was  a  low,  spreading  affair,  of  several  dates  of 
construction.  Once  Gaviller's  residence,  it  was  now 
used  to  house  the  white  employees  of  the  company  and 
chance  travelers. 

Greer's  room  was  in  the  end  of  the  building  nearest 
the  store.  The  policeman  slept  at  the  other  side, 
separated  by  several  partitions. 

The  room  they  were  making  for  had  a  door  opem- 
ing  directly  on  the  yard.  It  was  not  locked.  Am- 
brose merely  lifted  the  latch  and  walked  in  with  his 
five  men  at  his  heels. 

Inside,  in  the  thick  darkness  they  heard  the  sound 
of  deep  breathing.  Ambrose  flashed  his  light  around. 
A  typical  boy's  room  was  revealed,  with  college  ban- 
aers,  colored  prints,  photographs  and  firearms. 

On  a  bed  in  the  corner  lay  the  owner,  a  good-look- 
ing blond  boy  sleeping  on  his  back  with  an  an* 
flung  abore  his  head.  He  was  a  hearty  sleeper. 


138  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Not  until  the  command  was  twice  repeated  in  no 
uncertain  tones,  did  he  waken.  It  was  to  find  him- 
self looking  into  the  blazing  white  eye  of  the  electric 
torch. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  murmured,  blinking. 

One  of  the  men  chuckled. 

"Time  to  get  up,"  said  Ambrose  grimly. 

"Hey,  what's  the  matter?"  cried  the  voice  from 
the  bed  in  accents  of  honest  alarm. 

"Get  up  and  dress,"  commanded  Ambrose. 

"What  for?"  stammered  the  boy. 

"I  have  five  armed  men  here,"  said  Ambrose.  "Do 
what  you're  told  without  asking  questions.  If  you 
make  a  racket  you'll  be  cracked  over  the  head  with 
the  butt  of  a  gun." 

As  he  spoke  Ambrose  flashed  the  light  from  one  to 
another  of  his  men.  The  sight  of  the  quiet  dark- 
skinned  breeds,  each  with  a  Winchester  on  his  arm 
was  sufficiently  intimidating.  The  boy  swung  his  legs 
out  of  bed. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  philosophically.  "Throw  your 
light  on  my  clothes,  will  you?" 

He  commenced  to  dress  without  more  ado.  Present- 
ly he  asked  coolly:  "What  do  you  want  me  for,  and 
who  are  you  anyway?" 

"I'm  Ambrose  Doane,"  said  Ambrose.  "Pre  seized 
the  flour  mill.  You've  got  to  run  it." 

"There's  no  grain  there,"  said  Greer. 

"I  brought  my  grain  with  me,"  said  Ambrose. 

A  sound  like  a  chuckle  escaped  the  boy.  No  doubt 
he  was  well-informed  as  to  the  situation.  "You  didn't 
lose  much  time,"  he  said. 

They  started  back  to  the  mill,  a  breed  o»  either 
side  of  Greer  with  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"If  you  make  a  break,  you'll  be  knocked  down  and 
carried  in,"  warned  Ambrose. 

Apparently  Greer  had  no  such  intention.     He  was 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  199 

a  matter-of-fact  youth  and  prone  to  laughter.  He 
laughed  now.  "Golly!  the  old  man  will  be  in  a  wax 
when  he  hears  of  it !  How  many  men  have  you  got  ?" 

"Twenty-five,"  said  Ambrose. 

"Well,  he  can't  blame  me  if  I'm  forced  to  work  by 
overwhelming  numbers!  Oh,  golly!  but  there'll  be  a 
time  to-morrow !" 

Ambrose  breathed  more  freely.  This  which  had 
promised  to  be  the  most  difficult  part  of  his  plan  was 
proving  easy. 

Entering  the  mill,  Greer  looked  around  the  dim  place 
with  its  little  crowd  of  still,  silent,  armed  men,  and 
chuckled  again.  "Darned  if  it  isn't  as  good  as  a  melo- 
drama !"  he  said. 

"Go  to  it !"  said  Ambrose,  pointing  to  the  ma- 
chinery. He  lit  plenty  of  lanterns,  careless  now  if 
the  fort  were  aroused.  They  had  to  wake  up  sooner 
or  later.  "You  can  smoke,"  he  said  to  his  men. 

Matches  were  quickly  struck,  and  coals  pressed  into 
pipe  bowls  with  guttural  grunts  of  satisfaction. 

Greer  lit  a  cigarette,  and  picked  up  his  oil  can  and 
wrench  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  set  to  work, 
whistling  softly  between  his  teeth. 

Ambrose,  watching  him,  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  whether  this  was  due  to  pluck  or  sheer  light- 
headedness.  Either  way,  he  was  inclined  to  like  the 
boy. 

"I  say,  Ambrose,"  Greer  said  cheekily.  "Give  us  a 
hanc1  with  these  bolting  frames,  will  you?  Do  you 
want  fine  flour  or  coarse?" 

"The  most  in  the  least  time,"  said  Ambrose. 

"We'll  leave  in  the  middlings  then.  It's  whole- 
some." 

They  worked  amicably  together.  Greer  in  his  sim- 
plicity explained  everything  as  they  went,  and  Am- 
brose cannily  stored  it  away. 

Fortunately,    the    mill    had    lately    been    operated, 


140  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

grinding  the  grain  from  the  Crossing,  and  all  was 
practically  in  readiness  to  start.  Within  an  hour  af- 
ter the  landing  of  the  party,  Tole  turned  on  his 
•team. 

The  wheels  began  to  revolve,  Greer  threw  in  the 
clutch,  and  presently  a  veritable  stream  of  flour  began 
to  issue  from  the  mouth  of  the  machine.  Ambrose  re- 
pressed an  inclination  to  cheer. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WOMAN'S  WEAPONS. 

THE  steady  hum  of  machinery  was  more  effective 
to  awaken  the  inhabitants  of  the  Fort  than  any  scat- 
tered noises. 

The  sounds  of  movement  began  to  be  heard  among 
the  houses.  Lights  were  lit,  and  doors  opened.  No 
one  who  looked  out  of  doors  could  mistake  what  was 
going  on,  for  a  stream  of  sparks  was  now  issuing 
from  the  engine-house  stack. 

The  first  notice  of  attack  came  in  a  single  shot 
from  across  the  road.  A  bullet  sang  through  the 
doorway,  flattening  itself  with  a  whang  on  the  iron 
wall.  Those  around  the  opening  fell  back. 

Some  one  crashed  the  door  to.  Ambrose  as  quickly 
opened  it,  and  stooping  low,  peered  out.  He  was  in 
time  to  see  a  crouching  figure  disappear  around  the 
corner  of  the  store.  Something  in  the  bulk  of  it, 
the  neat  outline  gave  him  a  clue. 

"Strange,  by  gad!"  he  said  to  himself. 

Aloud,  Ambrose  said:  "The  door  must  be  open. 
We've  got  to  see  and  hear  what  they're  up  to.  Let 
every  man  keep  out  of  range.  Make  a  wall  of  the 
bags  of  grain  on  this  side  of  the  machine,  and  put 
the  lanterns  behind  it,  so  Greer  will  have  light." 

While  they  worked  to  obey  him,  Ambrose,  flinging 
himself  down  at  full  length,  watched  with  an  eye  at  the 
crack  of  the  door.  He  saw  a  group  of  men  gradually 
gather  at  the  corner  of  the  store.  They  advanced, 
hesitated,  fell  back. 

Finally,  an  authoritative  figure  showed  itself.  Am- 
brose guessed  it  to  be  Macfarlane,  the  policeman.  He 

141 


14*  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

advanced  boldly  down  the  sidewalk,  and  took  up  a  po- 
sition across  the  road.  The  others  straggled  after 
him. 

"Who  is  there?"  challenged  the  leader.  Ambrose 
distinguished  the  tunic  and  forage  cap. 

Ambrose  rose,  and  opening  the  door  wider,  showed 
himself.  "Ambrose  Doane,"  he  said.  He  warily 
watched  the  crowd,  for  any  movement  suggestive  of 
raising  a  gun. 

"You're  under  arrest !"  cried  the  policeman. 

"All  right,"  said  Ambrose  coolly.     "What  charge?'* 

"Unlawful  entry." 

"You'll  have  to  come  and  take  me!" 

"If  you  resist  the  law  the  consequences  will  be  on 
your  own  head!" 

"I  accept  the  consequences." 

"Stop  the  machinery!"  cried  the  policeman.  "If 
you  destroy  the  mill  we'll  all  starve !" 

"The  miller  himself  is  running  it,"  said  Ambrose 
coolly.  "With  a  gun  to  his  head,"  he  added,  grin- 
ning over  his  shoulder.  "I  seized  him  in  his  bed  and 
carried  him  here." 

"Good  man!"  Greer,  behind  him,  gratefully  mur- 
mured. 

"If  you  refuse  to  give  yourself  up  I'll  take  you  by 
force!"  cried  Macfarlane. 

"Come  ahead !"  sang  Ambrose.  "I've  got  twenty-five 
men  here.  They  have  orders  not  to  shoot,  but  if  you 
open  fire  on  us,  the  consequences  will  be  on  your  head !" 

"I'll  do  my  duty!"  shouted  the  policeman. 

"Get  your  crowd  together !"  taunted  Ambrose.  "Lay 
your  guns  down,  and  come  on  over  and  put  us  out  if 
you're  men  enough.  We'll  stand  by  the  result." 

The  men  behind  Ambrose  raised  a  cheer.  The  sound 
did  not  improve  the  morale  of  the  other  side.  Even  in 
the  dark,  the  difference  between  the  two  crowds  could 
be  felt. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  143 

Ambrose's  men  were  fighting  for  what  they  felt  to 
be  their  rights ;  the  men  behind  the  policeman  had 
no  incentive — except  their  jobs.  Macfarlane  paused 
to  consult  with  another  man — probably  Gordon 
Strange. 

The  others  talked  in  excited  whispers,  and  circled 
on  one  another  without  making  any  forward  move- 
ment. Messengers  were  despatched  up  and  down  the 
road. 

Suddenly  a  petticoated  figure  came  flying  down  the 
sidewalk  from  the  store.  Ambrose's  heart  leaped  up, 
and  then  as  suddenly  calmed.  He  told  himself  grimly 
he  was  cured. 

It  was  Colina.  "What  are  you  standing  here  for?" 
she  cried  passionately.  "Are  you  afraid?  They  are 
nothing  but  common  robbers !  Go  and  put  them  out !" 

No  man  moved. 

"Fire  on  them!"  cried  Colina.  "I  order  it!  I  take 
the  responsibility." 

They  still  hung  back.  Macfarlane  could  be  seen 
attempting  to  expostulate  with  her. 

"Don't  speak  to  me !"  cried  Colina.  "When  you  find 
robbers  in  your  house  you  shoot  them  down!  You're 
afraid!  I  will  go  myself!" 

All  in  a  breath  she  came  flying  across  the  road. 
Ambrose,  surprised,  fell  back  a  step  from  the  door. 
Before  he  could  recover  himself  she  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  shed  facing  them  with  blazing  eyes. 

She  had  risen  hastily;  her  glorious  hair  was  twisted 
in  a  loose  coil  and  pinned  insecurely ;  the  habit  she  had 
thrown  on  was  still  open  at  the  throat. 

She  had  caught  up  a  riding-crop ;  the  knuckles  that 
gripped  it  were  white.  Ambrose,  admiring  her  in  an 
odd,  detached  way,  was  reminded  of  Bellona,  the 
goddess  of  anger. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  cried. 

"What  you  see,"  said  Ambrose  coldly. 


144  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Get  out !"  she  cried.    "All  of  you !  I  order  it !" 

The  men  cringed  under  her  angry  glances,  and  their 
eyes  bolted.  Only  the  sight  of  Ambrose  standing 
firm,  kept  them  in  their  places.  Colina  turned  on, 
Ambrose. 

"You  thief!"  she  cried  with  ringing  scorn. 

Ambrose  coldly  faced  her  out.  Somehow  he  found 
it  was  his  turn  to  smile.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had 
suffered  so  much  at  her  hands  that  he  had  become 
callous  and  strong  enough  to  resist  her. 

Indeed  there  was  a  kind  of  bitter  sweetness  in  this 
moment.  She,  who  had  humiliated  him  so  many  times 
was  now  powerless  before  him,  let  her  rage  as  she 
might.  He  was  only  human. 

Seeing  the  cold  smile  Colina  felt  as  if  the  ground) 
was  suddenly  cut  from  under  her.  Her  cheeks  paled, 
and  the  imperious  blaze  of  her  eyes  was  slowly  dimmed. 

When  the  bolt  of  passion  is  launched  without  effect, 
a  horrible  blankness  faces  the  passionate  one.  The 
men  seeing  Colina  falter  breathed  more  freely.  They 
were  frankly  terrified  of  her. 

Colina  fought  on  though  her  forces  were  in  confu- 
sion. "Have  you  anything  to  say  for  yourself?"  she 
demanded  of  Ambrose.  "What  are  you  doing  on  my 
father's  property?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  Ambrose.  "You  know 
the  situation  as  well  as  I." 

Once  more  their  eyes  contended.  Hers  fell.  She 
turned  away  from  him.  When  she  came  back  it  was 
with  an  altered  air.  "May  I  speak  to  you  alone?" 
she  asked  in  low  tones. 

"Please  say  it  here,"  said  Ambrose.  "They  cannot 
hear." 

"My  father — "  she  murmured  with  a  deprecating 
air,  "I  am  afraid  this  will  kill  him.  I  have  locked  him 
in  his  room.  I  don't  know  what  he  will  do.  Can't 
you  stop  until  to-morrow?" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  145, 

"If  jou  will  pledge  yourself  for  him  to  finish  grind- 
ing my  grain  to-morrow,"  said  Ambrose. 

"How  can  I  pledge  him?"  she  said  pettishly.  "I 
am  not  his  master." 

"Then  we  must  grind  on." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  on  the  ground. 
When  she  raised  her  eyes  the  look  in  them  sent  all  the 
blood  flying  from  his  heart.  "Ambrose!"  she  mur- 
mured on  the  deep  note  he  remembered  so  well.  "Have 
you  forgotten?" 

He  stared  at  her  in  a  kind  of  horror. 

"How  can  you  be  so  hard  to  me?"  she  murmured. 

She  overdid  it.  Behind  the  intoxicating,  soft  ap- 
peal of  her  eyes,  he  perceived  a  dangerous  glitter,  and 
steeled  himself. 

"Come  outside  a  moment,"  she  whispered,  turning  up 
her  face  a  little. 

The  unregenerate  man  in  him  leaped  to  accept  what 
she  offered  and  still  hold  firm.  If  she  chose  to  play 
that  game  let  her  take  the  consequences?  His  more 
generous  self  held  back.  Somehow  he  realized  that  the 
humiliation  would  almost  kill  her — later* 

"It  is  too  late,"  he  said  coldly. 

This  in  itself  was  a  humiliation  the  proud  Colina 
could  not  have  conceived  herself  living  after.  From 
between  narrowed  lids  she  shot  him  a  glance  of  the 
purest  hate,  and  quickly  turned  away. 

The  riding  crop  switched  the  air  like  the  tail  of  an 
angry  cat.  There  was  a  silence.  All  watched  to 
see  what  she  would  do  next. 

Meanwhile  the  mill  was  grinding  smoothly.  The 
young  miller  was  hidden  from  Colina  by  the  barricade 
of  grain  bags.  Finally  she  looked  over  the  top  and 
saw  him  attending  the  machine. 

"Greer!"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

The  boy  started,  and  turned  a  pair  of  stricken 
eyes  in  her  direction.  His  ruddy  cheeks  paled  a 


146  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

little.     Manifestly  she  wielded  a  power  over  him  too. 

"Are  you  against  me?"  she  murmured  sadly. 

This  was  the  same  tone  she  had  just  used  to  Am- 
brose. His  lip  curled.  "He  has  to  do  what  I  tell 
him  or  be  knocked  on  the  head,"  he  said  quickly. 

Colina  ignored  this.  "You  could  fight  for  me  if 
you  would,"  she  murmured  to  the  boy. 

A  hot  little  flame  of  jealousy  scorched  Ambrose's 
breast.  He  laughed  jeeringly.  "Who's  next?"  he 
cried. 

Colina,  not  looking  at  him,  drew  a  baleful  breath 
between  her  teeth.  Suddenly  she  turned,  and  with 
hanging  head  slowly  made  her  way  toward  the  door. 

Ambrose  thought  she  was  beaten,  and  a  swift  wave 
of  compassion  almost  unmanned  him.  He  abruptly 
turned  away.  He  could  stand  anything  but  to  see 
Colina  defeated  and  grieving.  He  clenched  his  teetfi 
to  keep  from  crying  out  to  her. 

She  had  another  card  to  play.  She  stopped  at 
the  door,  and  looked  about  through  her  lashes  to  see 
if  the  way  out  was  clear. 

"Duncan!"  she  softly  cried.  The  word  was  accom- 
panied by  a  dazzling  smile  of  invitation. 

The  boy  dropped  his  wrench  as  if  he  had  been  shot, 
and  vaulting  over  the  grain  bags,  was  out  through 
the  door  after  her  before  any  one  could  stop  him. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

UNDERCURRENTS. 

As  Greer  disappeared  in  the  darkness  several  men 
started  in  pursuit. 

Ambrose  was  quicker.  He  flung  himself  into  the 
opening,  and  thrust  them  back.  Though  he  was  on 
fire  with  jealousy,  he  would  not  go  after  Greer,  nor 
let  the  others  go. 

He  could  scarcely  have  explained  why — perhaps  be- 
cause he  dimly  apprehended  that  it  was  Colina's  game 
to  drive  him  mad  with  jealousy. 

"Let  him  go,"  he  said  thickly.  "I  will  run  the 
mill  myself!" 

So  long  as  the  wheels  revolved  smoothly  and  the 
stream  of  creamy  flour  issued  from  the  mouth  of  the 
machine  the  miller  had  a  sinecure.  Ambrose  scowling 
and  grinding  his  teeth  scarcely  saw  what  his  eyes 
were  turned  on.  His  mind  was  busy  outside. 

He  was  sharply  recalled  to  his  job  by  a  tearing 
sound  from  within  the  machinery.  The  flour  came  out 
mixed  with  bran.  The  wheels  jammed  and  stopped. 

Ambrose  threw  out  the  clutch,  and  doggedly  at- 
tacked the  problem.  It  was  cruelly  hard  to  concen- 
trate his  mind  on  machinery  while  a  damnable  little 
voice  in  his  brain  persisted  in  asking  over  and  over: 
"Where  are  they?  What  are  they  doing?  How  far 
will  rage  carry  her?" 

He  contrived  to  remove  the  torn  frame  without 
much  difficulty,  but  how  to  clean  out  the  mass  of 
stuff  that  clogged  every  part  of  the  mechanism  de- 
fied his  ingenuity.  Apparently  the  thing  must  be 

147 


148  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

taken  apart.  How  could  he  hope  to  put  it  together 
by  lantern  light? 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  door,  and  Duncan  Greer 
slouched  in  with  a  hang-dog  scowl.  Never  in  his 
life  had  Ambrose  been  so  glad  to  see  a  man.  He  was 
careful  to  mask  his  joy.  He  glanced  at  the  boy 
carelessly  and  went  on  with  his  work.  Duncan  came 
directly  to  him. 

"I'm  your  man,"  he  muttered.  "For  keeps,  if  you 
want  me." 

"Sure,"  said  Ambrose,  very  offhand.  "Help  me  get 
this  thing  going,  will  you  ?" 

As  they  worked  side  by  side  in  the  lantern  light, 
Ambrose  perceived  a  red  welt  across  the  boy's  forehead 
and  cheek  that  was  momentarily  growing  darker.  He 
smiled  grimly.  Duncan,  finding  his  eyes  fixed  on  it, 
flushed  up  painfully. 

"Women  are  the  devil !"  he  muttered. 

A  great  unholy  joy  filled  Ambrose's  breast.  In 
his  relief  he  could  have  hugged  the  boy,  and  laughed. 

"Don't  abuse  the  women,  my  son,"  he  said  grimly. 
"They  have  to  fight  with  what  weapons  they  can. 
You  were  warned.  You  only  got  what  was  coming 
to  you!" 

When  the  machine  was  running  smoothly  again, 
Ambrose  went  to  the  door  to  reconnoiter. 

"They've  gone,"  he  said.  "I  don't  think  they'll 
trouble  us  again  before  morning.  You  can  all  sleep." 

Daybreak  and  the  following  hours  found  Ambrose 
and  his  party  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  renewed  demon- 
stration from  the  other  side.  None  was  made. 

Neither  Macfarlane,  Gordon  Strange,  nor  Colina 
could  have  mustered  a  corporal's  guard  of  the  natives 
to  their  aid.  The  breeds  in  their  own  mysterious  way 
had  simply  disappeared. 

Without  them,  the  half  dozen  whites  could  do  noth- 
ing against  Ambrose's  strong  party.  Colina  herself 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  149 

had  suffered  a  moral  defeat,  and  required  time  to 
recoup  her  losses. 

In  the  back  of  the  store  the  white  men  and  Gordon 
Strange  held  lengthy  consultations  without  agreeing 
on  any  course  of  action.  Strange  in  his  modest  way 
deferred  to  Macfarlane  and  the  others. 

But  John  Gaviller's  absolute  sway  at  the  post  had 
sapped  the  lesser  men's  initiative.  He  was  not  able 
to  be  present,  and  they  were  helpless. 

It  was  decided  to  send  for  help  to  police  head- 
quarters at  Caribou  Lake.  They  could  not  despatch 
the  big  steam-boat  which  had  been  dismantled  for  the 
winter,  but  the  launch  was  available. 

Gaviller  had  it  to  use  at  the  end  of  summer  when 
the  water  ran  low  in  the  river.  They  managed  to 
collect  enough  half-breeds  for  a  crew;  Masters  ran 
the  engine,  and  Captain  Stinson  piloted. 

Thus  in  order  to  send  for  help  the  little  force  had 
to  rob  itself  of  two  of  its  best  defenders.  They  got 
away  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  With  luck  they 
could  be  back  with  the  red-coats  in  two  weeks  or 
three. 

Meanwhile  the  mill  was  grinding  blithely. 

Ambrose,  who  desired  at  all  costs  to  keep  the  In- 
dians in  ignorance  of  what  was  happening,  for  fear 
they  might  get  out  of  hand,  sent  Germain  Grampierre 
to  his  father's  house  to  get  what  little  flour  they  had, 
and  carry  it  to  Watusk  to  feed  the  KakisaS  for  that 
day. 

As  far  as  he  could  see  there  was  no  other  com- 
munication from  one  side  of  the  river  to  the  other. 
He  observed  the  departure  of  the  launch,  with  a  calm 
brow.  He  guessed  its  errand,  and  was  not  at  all  averse 
to  having  the  police  brought  down,  and  the  whole 
matter  thoroughly  aired. 

All  day  the  wheels  revolved,  and  all  during  the  fol- 


150  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

lowing  night,  Ambrose  and  young  Greer  watching  the 
machine  by  turn. 

At  breakfast  time  on  the  second  morning  the  hopper 
was  empty,  and  the  last  bag  of  flour  tied  up.  They 
had  enough  to  satisfy  the  Kakisas  demands,  and  some- 
thing besides. 

In  the  center  of  the  shed  Ambrose  left  the  miller's 
tithe  in  payment,  with  an  ironical  note  affixed  to 
one  of  the  bags.  The  flour  was  loaded  in  the  york 
boat,  and  the  entire  party  set  off  in  high  feather. 

Their  arrival  with  the  flour  at  the  Indian  camp 
created  something  of  a  sensation.  The  children  came 
running  down  to  the  water,  capering  and  shrieking, 
accompanied  by  the  barking  dogs. 

Men  followed,  eager  to  toss  the  bags  to  their  should- 
ers. They  made  a  long  procession  back  to  the  tee- 
pees, the  women  crowding  around,  laughing,  gesticulat- 
ing, and  caressing  the  fat,  dusty  bags. 

By  Ambrose's  orders  the  bags  were  piled  up  in  an 
imposing  array  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  He  knew 
the  value  of  a  dramatic  display. 

The  half-breeds  who  had  been  on  duty  for  thirty- 
six  hours,  scattered  to  their  homes  up  and  down  the 
river.  Simon  Grampierre  and  Tole  remained  with 
Ambrose. 

The  york  boat  was  left  drawn  up  on  the  beach 
below  the  camp.  To  this  fact  Ambrose  traced  all 
the  subsequent  disasters.  But  he  could  not  have  fore- 
seen what  would  happen.  The  Indians  at  the  sight  of 
so  much  food  were  as  candid  and  happy  as  children. 

When  the  last  bag  of  flour  topped  the  pile,  Am- 
brose sought  out  Watusk.  He  found  the  head  man 
as  before,  evidently  awaiting  an  official  communication, 
with  his  dummy  councilors  on  either  hand.  Watusk's 
smooth,  flaBby  face  was  as  blank  as  a  plaster  wall. 

"I  have  brought  your  flour,"  said  Ambrose  with  a 
note  of  exultation  justifiable  under  the  circumstances. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  151 

Watusk  was  not  impressed.  "It  is  well,"  he  said 
with  a  stolid  nod. 

Ambrose  was  somewhat  taken  aback.  An  instant 
told  him  that  Watusk  alone  of  all  the  tribe  was  not 
glad  to  see  the  flour.  Ambrose  scented  a  mystery. 

"Where  you  get  the  flour?'*  asked  Watusk  politely. 

"I  borrowed  Caviller's  mill  to  grind  it,"  Ambrose 
answered  in  kind. 

Watusk's  eyes  narrowed.  He  puffed  out  his  cheeks 
a  little,  and  Ambrose  saw  that  an  oration  was  im- 
pending. 

"I  hope  there  will  be  no  trouble,"  the  Indian  began 
self-importantly.  "Always  when  there  is  trouble  the 
red  man  get  blame.  When  the  fur  is  scarce,  when  sum- 
mer frost  turn  the  wheat  black  it  is  the  same.  They 
say  the  red  man  make  bad  medicine. 

"Two  white  men  have  a  fight,  red  man  come  along, 
know  nothing.  Those  two  white  men  say  it  is  his 
fault,  and  kick  him  hard.  You  break  open  Gaviller's 
mill.  Gaviller  is  mad,  send  for  police.  When  the 
police  come  I  think  they  say  it  is  Watusk's  fault. 
Send  him  to  jail!" 

It  was  evident  from  this  that  Watusk  was  pretty 
well  informed  of  what  had  happened.  "How  do  you 
know  they  have  sent  for  the  police?"  Ambrose  de- 
manded. 

Watusk  shrugged  expressively.  "I  see  the  launch 
go  up  the  river  in  a  hurry,"  he  said. 

In  the  light  of  his  insolent  demand  two  days  be- 
fore, the  Indian's  present  attitude  was  more  than 
exasperating.  "This  is  foolishness,"  said  Ambrose 
sharply.  "I  sell  you  the  flour.  How  I  got  it  is  my 
affair.  I  take  the  responsibility.  The  police  will  deal 
with  me!" 

"I  hope  so,'*  said  Watusk  smugly. 

"I  have  made  out  a  receipt,"  Ambrose  went  on. 
"You  sign  it,  then  distribute  the  flour  among  the 


152  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

people,  and  give  me  the  men's  names  so  I  can  charge 
them  on  my  book. 

"To-morrow  I  give  it  out,"  said  Watusk.  "To-day 
I  put  the  flour  in  Gaston  Trudeau's  empty  house  by 
the  river.  Maybe  goin*  to  rain  to-night." 

"Just  as  you  like  about  that,"  said  Ambrose,  "When 
are  you  going  to  pull  out  for  home?" 

"Soon,"  replied  Watusk  vaguely. 

"They  tell  me  it  is  the  best  time  now  to  hunt  the 
moose,"  remarked  Ambrose  suggestively.  "And  the 
bear's  fur  is  coming  in  thick  and  soft.  You  have 
been  here  two  weeks  \vithout  hunting." 

Again  Watusk's  eyes  narrowed  like  a  sulky  child's. 
"Must  the  Kakisas  got  hunt  every  day?"  he  asked 
spreading  out  his  hands.  "The  people  are  weak  with 
hunger.  We  got  eat  before  we  travel." 

Ambrose  left  this  interview  in  a  highly  dissatisfied 
state  of  mind. 

Later  in  the  day  Watusk  must  have  thought  better 
of  his  surliness  for  he  sent  a  polite  message  to  Ambrose 
at  Simon  Grampierre's  house,  requesting  him  and 
Simon  to  come  to  a  tea  dance  that  night. 

He  had  borrowed  Jack  Mackenzie's  house  for  the 
affair  since  no  teepee  was  big  enough  to  contain  it. 
Mackenzie's  was  the  first  house  west  of  the  Kakisa  en- 
campment. 

"Tea-dance !  Bah !  Indian  foolishness !"   said  Simon. 

"Let  us  go  anyway,"  said  Ambrose.  "I  feel  as  if 
there  was  something  crooked  going  on.  This  Indian 
will  bear  watching." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  SUBTLETY  OF  GORDON  STRANGE. 

AT  the  same  moment  Gordon  Strange  was  sitting 
on  the  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  flag-staff,  smoking, 
and  gazing  speculatively  across  the  river  at  the  teepee 
Tillage. 

Colina  issued  out  of  the  big  house,  and  seeing  him, 
joined  him.  It  was  her  first  public  appearance  since 
the  scene  at  the  mill,  and  it  was  something  of  an 
ordeal. 

Her  face  showed  what  she  was  going  through.  She 
was  elaborately  self-conscious ;  defiance  struggled  with 
a  secret  shame.  In  her  heart  she  knew  she  was  wrong, 
yet  she  thirsted  for  justification. 

"What  is  the  situation?"  she  asked  haughtily. 

Strange  told  her  briefly.  His  air  was  admirable. 
He  betrayed  no  consciousness  of  anything  changed  in 
her;  he  was  deferential  without  being  obsequious. 

He  let  her  understand  that  she  was  still  his  peer- 
less mistress  who  could  do  no  wrong.  This  was  ex- 
actly what  Colina  wanted.  She  warmed  toward  him, 
and  sat  down. 

"Ah!  I  can  talk  straight  to  you,"  she  said.  "The 
others  act  as  if  the  truth  was  too  strong  for  me!*' 

"I  know  better  than  that,"  said  Strange  quietly. 
"You  have  the  best  head  of  any  of  us." 

"Except  when  I  lose  it!"  Colina  thought.  She 
smiled  at  him  more  warmly  than  she  knew.  A  little 
flame  that  leaped  up  behind  the  man's  eyes  warned 
her.  "Would  he  ever  dare!"  she  thought. 

"How  is  your  father?"  asked  Strange  quietly. 

She  shrugged  helplessly.  "Still  weak,"  she  said, 
153 


154  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"but  there  has  been  no  return  of  fever.  I  have  man- 
aged to  keep  the  truth  from  him,  but  he  suspects 
it.  I  cannot  keep  him  in  his  room  much  longer." 

"Ah!  It  makes  me  mad  when  I  think  of  him!" 
Strange  muttered. 

There  was  a  silence  between  them.  His  sympathy 
was  sweet  to  her.  She  allowed  it  to  lull  her  instinct 
of  danger. 

"What  about  the  Kakisas?"  she  asked.  "I  gathered 
from  Macfarlane's  and  Dr.  Giddings's  careful  attempts 
to  reassure  me,  that  they  feared  danger  from  that 
source." 

Strange  smiled  enigmatically. 

"Surely  the  idea  of  an  Indian  attack  is  absurd," 
said  Colina.  "There  hasn't  been  such  a  thing  for 
thirty  years." 

"I  know  the  Indians  better  than  any  man  here," 
said  Strange.  "One  may  expect  danger  without  being 
afraid." 

"Danger!"  cried  Colina,  elevating  her  eyebrows. 
"They  would  never  dare! — '* 

"Not  of  themselves — but  with  a  leader!" 

"Ambrose  Doane?"  said  Colina  quickly.  Her  in- 
telligence instantly  rejected  the  suggestion,  but  self- 
love  snatched  at  it  in  justification.  Wounded  vanity 
makes  incongrous  alliances.  "That  would  be  devilish !" 
she  murmured. 

Strange  shrugged.  "I  can't  be  sure  of  what  is 
going  on,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  to  alarm  you  un- 
necessarily. But  I  have  a  reason  to  suspect  danger." 

Colina  turned  pale.  "Tell  me  exactly  what  you 
mean,"  she  said. 

"The  Indians  have  learned  by  now  how  easy  it 
was  to  seize  the  mill,"  he  said  with  admirable  gravity. 
<slt  seems  to  me  that  to  the  Indian  mind  looting  the 
store  will  next  suggest  itself.  We  know  they  are  in- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  155 

censed  against  your  father.  His  long  weakness  makes 
them  bold." 

"But  these  are  merely  surmises !"  cried  Colina. 

"There  is  something  else.  Their  minds  work  ob- 
liquely. They  never  come  out  straight  with  anything. 
I  have  received  a  kind  of  warning.  It  was  an  invita- 
tion to  spend  the  night  with  Marcel  Charlbois  down 
the  river.  But  it  came  from  the  other  side." 

"Why  should  they  warn  you?"  asked  Colina. 

"Some  man  among  them  probably  has  compunc- 
tions," said  Strange.  "Watusk,  the  head  man  is  a 
decent  sort.  Perhaps  this  is  his  way  of  letting  me 
know  that  he  cannot  keep  his  people  in  hand." 

"What  do  you  expect  will  happen?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  there  will  be  an  attack  to-night,"  he  said 
quietly.  "It  is  my  duty  to  tell  you.  If  it  doesn't  come, 
no  harm  done." 

Strange's  quiet  air  was  terribly  impressive.  Colina 
sat  pale  and  silent,  letting  the  horror  sink  in.  She 
was  no  weakling,  but  this  was  a  prospect  to  appal 
the  strongest  man. 

"We  are  so  helpless !"  she  murmured  at  last. 

A  spark,  one  would  have  said  of  satisfaction,  shot 
from  beneath  Strange's  demurely  lowered  eyelids.  "We 
cannot  depend  on  our  breeds,"  he  went  on  soberly, 
"and  Greer  has  gone  over  to  the  other  side." 

Colina  winced. 

"That  leaves  us  four  men  and  yourself  and  your 
father.  If  we  had  a  stone  building  we  could  snap 
our  fingers  at  them  but  everything  is  of  wood.  And 
fire  is  their  favorite  weapon.  There  are  two  courses 
open  to  us.  We  can  go  before  they  come,  or  we  can 
stay  and  defend  ourselves." 

Colina  stared  before  her,  wide-eyed.  "Father  would 
never  let  us  take  him  away  without  an  explanation," 
she  murmured.  "And  if  we  told  him  what  we  feared, 
he  would  flatly  refuse  to  go — " 


156  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Strange  maintained  a  discreet  silence. 

Colina  suddenly  flung  up  her  head.  "We  stay  here!" 
she  cried. 

Strange's  dark  eyes  burned — but  with  what  kind 
of  a  feeling  Colina  was  in  no  state  to  judge.  "You're 
brave!"  he  cried.  "That's  what  I  wanted  you  t« 
say!" 

"What  must  we  do  to  prepare?" 

"There  is  little  we  can  do.  We  must  abandon  the 
store.  There  is  no  way  to  defend  it.  Perhaps  they 
will  be  satisfied  with  looting  it.  We  will  all  take  up 
our  station  in  the  house.  At  the  worst,  I  do  not 
fear  any  harm  to  any  of  us,  except  perhaps — " 

"Father?"  murmured  Colina. 

"They  have  been  wrought  up  to  a  high  pitch  against 
him,"  Strange  said  deprecatingly. 

"Oh,  why  did  that  man  have  to  come  here!"  mur- 
mured Colina. 

They  were  silent  for  a  while,  Colina  looking  om 
the  ground,  and  Strange  watching  Colina  with  his 
peculiar  limpid,  candid  eyes,  which,  when  one  looked 
deep  enough,  were  not  candid  at  all. 

He  finally  looked  away  from  her. 

"There  is  something  I  want  to  say,"  he  began  ia 
low  tones.  "Your  father — he  shall  be  my  special 
care  to-night.  They  can  strike  at  him — only  through 
me." 

"Ah,  you're  so  good  to  me!"  murmured  Colina. 

"Do  not  thank  me,"  he  said  quickly.  "Remember 
I  owe  him  everything.  All  I  am.  All  I  have  I  would 
gladly — gladly — I  sound  melodramatic,  don't  I.  But 
I  don't  often  inflict  this  on  you.  You  know  what  I 
mean.  If  I  could  save  him !" 

Colina  impulsively  seized  his  hand.  Tears  of  grati- 
tude sprang  to  her  eyes.  "I  will  thank  you!"  she 
cried.  "You're  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world!" 

"And  even  if  I  owed  him  nothing,"  Strange  went 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  157 

on,  not  looking  at  her,  "he  would  still  be  your  father !" 

An  hour  before  Colina  would  have  crushed  him. 
But  it  came  at  an  emotional  moment.  She  was  blind 
to  his  color  then. 

"I  will  never,  never  forget  this,"  she  said. 

He  respectfully  lifted  her  hands  to  his  lips. 

The  under  devil  whose  especial  business  it  is  to 
preside  over  fine  acting  must  have  rubbed  his  hands 
gleefully  at  the  sight  of  his  dark-skinned  protege's 
aptitude. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

THE  "TEA  DANCE." 


WHEN  Ambrose  and  Simon  Grampierre  arrived  a.t 
the  tea-dance  they  found  present  as  many  of  the 
Kakisas  of  both  sexes  as  could  be  wedged  within  Jack 
Mackenzie's  shack. 

All  around  the  room  they  were  pressed  in  tiers, 
the  first  line  squatting,  the  second  kneeling,  the  third 
standing,  and  others  behind,  perched  on  chairs,  beds 
and  tables,  that  all  might  have  a  clear  view  of  the 
floor. 

The  cook-stove  occupied  the  center  of  the  room, 
and  around  it  a  narrow  space  had  been  left  for  the 
dancers.  The  air  was  suffocating  to  white  lungs,  what 
with  human  emanations  combined  with  the  thick  fumes 
of  kinnikinic. 

Watusk,  still  sporting  the  frock  coat  and  the  finger- 
rings,  had  improved  his  costume  by  the  addition  of  a 
battered  silk  hat  with  a  chaplet  of  red  paper  roses 
around  the  brim. 

He  squatted  on  the  floor  in  the  center  of  the  back 
wall,  and  places  had  been  left  at  his  right  and  left 
for  Ambrose  and  Simon.  He  was  disposed  to  be 
gracious  and  jocular  to-night. 

For  very  slight  cause,  or  for  none  at  all  he  laughed 
until  he  shook  all  over.  This  was  his  way  of  appear- 
ing at  his  ease. 

As  they  took  their  places  Ambrose  was  struck  by 
the  pretty,  wistful  face  of  a  girl  who  knelt  on  the 
floor  behind  Watusk.  It  had  a  fine  quality  that  dis- 
tinguished it  sharply  from  the  stolid  flat  countenances 
of  her  sisters. 

158 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  159 

It  was  more  than  pretty;  it  was  tragically  beau- 
tiful, though  she  was  little  more  than  a  child.  What 
made  it  especially  significant  to  Ambrose  was  the 
fact  that  the  girl's  sad  eyes  instantaneously  singled 
him  out  when  he  entered. 

As  he  sat  in  front  of  her  he  was  aware  that  they 
were  dwelling  on  him.  When  he  caught  her  glance,  the 
eyes  naively  suggested  that  she  had  a  communication 
to  make  to  him,  if  she  dared ! 

The  fun  had  not  yet  commenced.  The  two  drum- 
mers sat  idle  in  a  corner,  and  all  the  company  sat  in 
stolid  silence.  Only  Watusk  chatted  and  laughed. 
The  women  stared  at  Ambrose,  and  the  men  looked 
down  their  noses.  All  were  somewhat  embarrassed 
by  the  presence  of  a  white  man.  Ambrose,  looking 
around,  was  struck  by  the  incongruity  of  the  women's 
neat  print  dresses  and  the  men's  store  clothes  taken 
with  their  savage,  walled  faces.  Such  faces  called 
for  blankets,  beads,  war  paint  and  eagles'  feathers. 

Ambrose,  seeing  the  entire  tribe  gathered  here  as 
it  seemed,  thought  a  little  anxiously  of  the  flour  he 
had  been  at  such  pains  to  grind. 

Mackenzie's  house  was  a  good  distance  from  the 
teepees,  and  the  shack  they  were  using  for  a  store- 
house almost  as  far  on  the  other  side. 

"Is  anybody  watching  your  flour?"  he  asked  Wa- 
tusk. 

"I  send  four  men  to  watch,"  was  the  reply. 

"Good  men?  Men  who  will  not  sneak  up  to  the 
dance  ?" 

"Good  men,"  said  Watusk  calmly. 

Watusk  presently  gave  a  signal  to  the  stick-kettle 
men,  and  they  commenced  to  drum  with  their  knuckles. 
The  drums  were  wide  wooden  hoops  with  a  skin  drawn 
over  one  side. 

The  drummers  had  a  lamp  on  the  floor  between 
them,  and  when  the  skin  relaxed  they  dried  it  over 


160  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

the  chimney.  Like  dances  everywhere  this  one  was 
slow  to  get  under  way.  No  one  liked  to  be  the  first 
one  to  take  the  floor. 

Gradually  the  drummers  warmed  to  their  work.  The 
stick-kettle  had  a  voice  of  its  own,  a  dull,  throbbing 
complaint  that  caused  even  Ambrose's  blood  to  stir 
vaguely. 

Finally  a  handsome  young  man  arose  and  com- 
menced to  hitch  around  the  stove  with  stiff  joints,  like 
a  mechanical  figure.  The  company  broke  into  a  wild 
chant  in  a  minor  key,  commencing  on  a  high  note 
and  descending  the  whole  gamut,  with  strange  pauses, 
lifts  and  falls. 

Half  way  down  the  women  came  in  with  a  shrill 
second  part.  It  died  away  into  a  rumble,  ever  to  be 
renewed  on  the  same  high,  long-drawn  note.  Ambrose 
was  reminded  of  the  baying  of  hounds. 

The  dancer  knotted  his  handkerchief  as  he  circled 
the  stove.  Dancing  up  to  another  man,  he  offered 
him  the  end  of  it  with  some  spoken  words. 

It  was  accepted,  and  they  danced  together  around 
the  stove,  joined  by  the  handkerchief. 

The  hunching,  spasmodic  step  never  varied.  Am- 
brose asked  Watusk  about  it. 

"This  is  the  lame  man's  dance,"  his  host  explained. 

"What  lame  man?"  asked  Ambrose.  "How  did  it 
begin?" 

Watusk  shrugged.     "It  is  very  old,"  he  said. 

The  first  man  dropped  out,  and  the  second  chose 
a  new  partner.  Sometimes  there  were  two  or  three 
couples  dancing  at  once.  Partners  were  chosen  in- 
discriminately from  either  sex. 

In  each  case  the  knotted  handkerchief  was  offered 
with  the  same  spoken  formula.  Ambrose  asked  what 
it  was  they  said. 

"This  is  give-away  dance,"  Watusk  explained.  "He 
is  say:  'This  my  knife,  this  my  blanket,  this  my  silk- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  161 

worked  moccasins.'  What  he  want  to  give.  After 
he  got  give  it." 

Ambrose  observed  that  each  dancer  laid  two  matches 
on  the  cold  stove  as  he  took  his  place,  and  when  he 
retired  from  the  dance  picked  them  up  again.  He 
asked  what  that  signified. 

Watusk  shrugged  again.  "How  do  I  know?*'  he 
said.  "It  is  always  done." 

Ambrose  learned  later  that  this  was  the  invariable 
answer  of  the  Kakisas  to  any  question  concerning  their 
customs. 

Watusk  was  exerting  himself  to  be  hospitable,  con- 
tinually pressing  cups  of  steaming  bitter  tea  on  Am- 
brose and  Simon.  Ambrose,  watching  him,  made  up 
his  mind  that  the  chief's  unusual  affability  masked 
a  deep  disquiet. 

The  sharp,  shifty  eyes  were  continually  turning 
with  an  expectant  look  to  the  door.  Ambrose  found 
himself  watching  the  door,  too. 

To  Ambrose  the  uncouth  dance  had  neither  head 
nor  tail;  nevertheless,  it  had  a  striking  effect  on  the 
participators  and  spectators. 

Minute  by  minute  the  excitement  mounted.  The 
stick-kettles  throbbed  faster  and  ever  more  disquiet- 
ingly.  It  seemed  as  if  the  skin  of  the  drums  were  the 
very  hearts  of  the  hearers,  with  the  drummers'  knuckles 
searching  out  their  secrets. 

Eyes  burned  like  stars  around  the  walls,  and  the 
chant  was  renewed  with  a  passionate  abandon.  The 
figures  hitched  and  sprang  around  the  homely  iron 
stove  like  lithe  animals. 

Suddenly  the  noise  of  running  feet  was  heard  out- 
side, and  a  man  burst  in  through  the  door  with  livid 
face  and  starting  eyes.  The  drumming,  the  song,  and 
the  dance  stopped  simultaneously. 

The  man  cried  out  a  single  sentence  in  the  Kakisa 


162  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

tongue.  Cried  it  over  and  over  breathlessly,  without 
any  expression. 

The  effect  on  the  crowd  was  electrical.  Cries  of  sur- 
prise and  alarm,  both  hoarse  and  shrill,  answered  him. 
A  wave  of  rage  swept  over  them  all,  distorting  their 
faces.  They  jammed  in  the  doorway,  fighting  to 
get  out. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Ambrose  of  Watusk. 

Watusk's  face  was  working  oddly  with  excitement. 
But  it  was  not  rage  like  the  others.  The  difference  be- 
tween him  and  all  his  people  was  marked. 

"The  flour  is  burning!"  the  chief  cried. 

"This  was  what  he  expected,"  thought  Ambrose. 

As  he  struggled  to  get  out,  Ambrose's  hand  was 
seized  and  pressed  by  a  small  warm  one. 

He  had  a  momentary  impression  of  the  wistful  girl 
beside  him.  Then  she  was  swept  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FIRE    AND    RAPINE. 

THE  Kakisas  ran  down  the  trail  like  a  heap  of  dry 
leaves  propelled  by  a  squall  of  wind.  To  Ambrose 
it  all  seemed  as  senseless  and  unreal  as  a  nightmare. 

The  alarm  had  been  given  at  a  moment  of  extreme 
emotional  excitement,  and  restraint  was  thrown  to  the 
winds.  It  was  like  a  rout  after  battle. 

The  men  shouted;  the  women  wailed  and  forgot 
their  children.  The  throng  was  full  of  lost  children; 
they  fell  by  the  road  and  lay  shrieking. 

Ambrose  never  forgot  the  picture  as  he  ran,  of  an 
old  crone,  crazed  by  excitement,  whirling  like  a  dervish, 
rocking  her  skinny  arms  and  twisting  her  neck  into 
attitudes  as  grotesque  as  gargoyles. 

The  trail  they  covered  was  a  rough  wagon-road 
winding  among  patches  of  poplar  scrub  and  willow. 
Issuing  out  upon  the  wide  clearing  which  contained 
their  village  they  saw  afar  the  little  storehouse  burn- 
ing like  a  torch,  and  redoubled  their  cries. 

They  swept  past  the  teepees  without  stopping,  the 
biggest  ones  in  the  van,  the  little  ones  tailing  off  and 
falling  down  and  getting  up  again  with  piteous  cries. 

Reaching  the  spot,  all  could  see  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  done.  The  shack  was  completely  enveloped 
in  flames.  There  were  not  half  a  dozen  practicable 
water-pails  in  the  tribe,  and  anyhow  the  fire  was  a 
good  furlong  from  the  river. 

Ambrose,  seeing  what  a  start  it  had  got,  guessed 
that  it  was  no  accident.  It  had  been  set,  and  set  in 
such  a  way  as  to  insure  the  shack's  total  destruction. 
He  considered  the  sight  grimly. 

163 


164  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  mystery  he  had  first  scented  that  morning  was 
assuming  truly  formidable  proportions.  He  believed 
that  Watusk  was  a  party  to  it ;  but  he  could  not  con- 
ceive of  any  reason  why  Watusk  should  burn  up  his 
people's  bread. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  and  the  people  ceased 
their  cries.  They  stood  gazing  at  the  ruby  and  ver- 
milion flames  with  wide,  charmed  eyes. 

Among  the  pictures  that  this  terrible  night  etched 
with  acid  on  Ambrose's  subconsciousness,  the  sight  of 
them  standing  motionless,  all  the  dark  faces  lighted 
by  the  glare,  was  not  the  least  impressive. 

With  a  sickening  anxiety  he  perceived  the  signs  of 
a  rising  savage  rage.  The  men  scowled  and  muttered. 
More  than  once  he  heard  the  words:  "John  Gaviller!" 
Men  slipped  away  to  the  teepees  and  returned  with 
their  guns. 

Ambrose  looked  anxiously  for  Watusk.  He  could 
not  reach  the  people  except  through  the  man  he  dis- 
trusted. 

He  found  him  by  himself  in  a  kind  of  retreat  among 
some  poplars  a  little  way  off,  where  he  could  see  with- 
out being  seen.  Ambrose  dragged  him  back  willy- 
nilly,  adjuring  him  by  the  way. 

"The  people  are  working  themselves  into  a  rage. 
They  speak  of  Gaviller.  You  and  I  have  got  to  pre- 
rent  trouble.  You  must  tell  them  Gaviller  is  a  hard 
man,  but  he  keeps  the  law.  He  did  not  do  this  thing. 
This  is  the  act  of  another  enemy." 

"What  good  tell  them?"  said  Watusk  sullenly.  "They 
not  believe." 

"You  are  their  leader!"  cried  Ambrose.  "It's  up 
to  you  to  keep  them  out  of  trouble.  If  you  do  not 
speak,  whatever  happens  will  be  on  your  head!  And 
I  will  testify  against  you.  Tell  the  people  to  wait 
until  to-morrow  and  I  pledge  myself  to  find  out  who 
did  this." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  165 

"You  know  who  did  it?"  asked  Watusk  sharply. 

"I  will  not  speak  until  I  have  proof,"  Ambrose  said 
warily. 

"What  happened  to  the  men  you  left  on  guard?" 

"They  say  they  play  jack-pot  with  a  lantern  near 
the  door,"  said  Watusk.  "See  not'ing.  Hear  not'ing. 
Poof!  she  is  all  burn!'* 

"H-m!"  said  Ambrose. 

They  were  now  among  the  people. 

"Speak  to  them!"  he  cried.  "Tell  them  if  they 
keep  quiet  Ambrose  Doane  will  pay  for  the  flour  that 
is  burned  up,  and  will  grind  them  some  more.  Tell 
them  to  wait,  and  I  promise  to  make  things  right. 
Tell  them  if  they  make  trouble  to-night  the  police 
will  come  and  take  them  away,  and  their  children 
will  starve!" 

Watusk  did,  indeed,  move  among  the  men  speaking 
to  them,  but  with  a  half-hearted  air.  He  cut  a  pitiful 
figure.  It  was  not  clear  whether  he  was  unwilling  to 
oppose  them  or  afraid. 

Ambrose  did  not  even  know  what  Watusk  was 
saying  to  them.  At  any  rate  the  men  ignored  their 
leader.  Ambrose  was  wild  at  the  necessity  which  made 
him  dependent  on  such  a  poor  creature. 

He  followed  Watusk,  imploring  them  in  English  to 
keep  their  heads.  Some  of  the  sense  of  what  he  said 
must  have  reached  them  through  his  tones  and  ges- 
tures, but  they  only  turned  sullen,  suspicious  shoulders 
upon  him. 

That  Ambrose  should  take  the  part  of  his  known 
enemy,  John  Gaviller,  seemed  to  their  simple  minds 
to  smack  of  double-dealing. 

The  roof  of  the  burning  shack  fell  in,  sending  a 
lovely  eruption  of  sparks  to  the  black  sky.  At  the 
same  moment  as  if  by  a  signal  one  of  the  savages 
brandished  his  gun  aloft  and  broke  into  a  passionate 
denunciation. 


166  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Once  more  Ambrose  heard  the  name  of  Gaviller. 
Instantly  the  crowd  was  in  an  uproar  again.  Cries 
of  angry  approval  answered  the  speaker  from  every 
throat.  The  man  was  beside  himself.  He  waved  his 
gun  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

Ambrose  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  saw  what 
was  coming.  Black  horror  faced  him.  He  ran  to  the 
river,  straining  every  nerve.  He  heard  them  behind 
him.  Then  it  was  that  he  so  bitterly  reproached  him- 
self for  having  left  the  york  boat  within  reach. 

Leaping  down  the  bank,  he  put  his  back  under  the 
bow  and  struggled  to  push  it  off.  He  would  gladly 
have  sacrificed  it.  It  was  too  heavy  for  him  to  budge. 
Tole  Grampierre  and  Greer  reached  his  side. 

"Quick!"  cried  Ambrose  breathlessly.  "Set  her 
adrift!" 

But  at  that  moment  the  whole  tribe  came  pouring 
over  the  bank  like  a  flood.  Ambrose  and  the  breed 
sprang  into  the  bow  of  the  boat  in  an  endeavor  to  hold 
it  against  them.  Old  Simon  presently  joined  them. 

"Back!  Back!"  cried  Ambrose.  "For  God's  sake 
listen  to  me,  men!  Go  to  your  lodges  and  talk  until 
morning.  The  truth  will  be  clear  in  the  daylight! 
The  police  are  coming.  They  will  give  you  justice. 

"Justice  is  on  your  side  now.  If  you  break  the 
white  man's  law  he  will  wipe  you  out !  Where  is  your 
leader?  He  knows  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  Watusk 
is  not  here !  He  won't  risk  his  neck !" 

It  had  about  as  much  effect  as  a  trickle  of  water 
upon  a  conflagration.  They  made  no  attempt  to 
dislodge  Ambrose  from  in  front,  but  swarmed  into 
the  water  on  either  side,  and  putting  their  backs  under 
the  boat,  lifted  her  off  the  stones.  Scrambling  over 
the  sides,  they  shouldered  Ambrose  and  the  breed 
ashore  from  behind. 

Ambrose  shouted  to  the  breeds:  "Go  home  and  stay 
there  all  night.  You  must  not  be  mixed  up  in  this." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  167 

"What  will  you  do?"  cried  Simon. 

The  york  boat  was  already  floating  off,  the  crew 
running  out  the  sweeps.  Ambrose,  without  answer- 
ing, ran  into  the  water  and  clambered  aboard.  In  the 
confusion  and  the  dark  the  Indians  could  not  tell  if 
he  were  white  or  red. 

He  made  himself  inconspicuous  in  the  bow.  His 
only  conscious  thought  was  how  to  get  a  gun.  He 
had  no  idea  of  what  to  do  upon  landing. 

Upon  pushing  off,  moved  by  a  common  instinct 
of  caution,  the  Indians  fell  silent,  and  during  the 
crossing  there  was  no  sound  but  the  grumbling  of  the 
clumsy  sweeps  in  the  thole-pins,  and  the  splash  of 
the  blades. 

Standing  on  the  little  platform  astern,  silhouetted 
against  the  sky,  Ambrose  recognized  the  man  who  had 
given  the  word  to  attack  Gaviller. 

He  marked  him  well.  He  was  of  middle  size,  a 
tall  man  among  the  little  Kakisas,  with  a  great  shock 
of  hair  cut  off  like  a  Dutchman's  at  the  neck. 

On  the  way  over  Ambrose  was  greatly  astonished 
to  feel  his  sleeve  gently  plucked.  He  studied  the  men 
beside  him,  and  finally  made  out  Tole  under  his  flaring 
hatbrim. 

Into  his  ear  he  whispered:  "I  told  you  to  go  home." 

"I  go  with  you,"  Tole  whispered  back.  "I  your 
friend." 

Ambrose's  anxious  heart  was  warmed.  He  needed 
a  friend.  He  gripped  Tole's  shoulder. 

"Have  you  a  gun?"  he  asked. 

The  breed  shook  his  head. 

"Get  guns  for  us  both  if  you  can,"  said  Ambrose. 

On  the  other  side,  the  instant  the  york  boat  touched 
the  shingle,  the  Indians  set  up  a  chorus  of  yelling 
frightful  to  hear,  and  scrambled  ashore. 

Ambrose  and  Tole  were  among  the  first  out.  To- 
gether they  drew  aside  a  little  way  into  the  darkness 


168  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

to  see  what  would  happen.  There  was  no  need  to  warn 
the  Company  people;  the  yelling  did  that. 

The  Indians  set  off  across  the  beach  and  up  the 
bank,  working  themselves  up  with  their  strident,  brut- 
ish cries.  The  habits  of  thirty  years  of  peace  were 
shed  like  a  garment.  The  young  men  of  the  tribe 
had  never  heard  the  war-cry  until  that  moment. 

Ambrose  followed  at  their  heels.  At  the  top  of 
the  bank,  to  his  unbounded  relief,  they  turned  toward 
the  store.  He  still  had  a  little  time.  All  he  could 
do  was  to  offer  himself  to  the  defenders. 

"I'm  going  to  the  side  door  of  Gaviller's  house," 
he  said  to  Tole.  "Get  guns  for  us,  somehow,  and 
come  to  me  there." 

He  knew  that  Tole,  who  was  as  dark  as  the  Kakisas, 
and  in  no  way  distinguished  from  them  in  dress,  ran 
little  risk  of  discovery  in  the  confusion. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life  about  the  post ;  every 
window  was  dark.  The  Indians  swarmed  across  the 
quadrangle  without  meeting  any  one. 

As  Ambrose  reached  the  fence  around  Gaviller's 
house  he  heard  the  store-door  and  the  windows  go  in 
with  a  series  of  crashes.  He  crouched  beside  the  gate 
to  wait  for  Tole.  It  was  useless  for  him  to  offer 
himself  without  a  weapon. 

They  started  a  fire  outside  the  store.  Fed  with 
excelsior  and  empty  boxes,  the  flames  leaped  up  in- 
stantaneously, illuminating  every  corner  of  the  quad- 
rangle, and  throwing  gigantic,  distorted  shadows  of 
men  on  the  store  front. 

On  the  nearer  side  of  the  fire  the  silhouettes  darted 
back  and  forth  with  the  malignant  activity  of  demons 
in  a  pit.  Men  issued  out  of  the  store  with  armfuls 
of  goods  that  they  flung  regardless  to  the  flames. 

Already  they  were  dressing  themselves  up  in  layer 
after  layer  of  clothes  until  they  no  longer  resembled 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  160 

human  creatures.  What  they  could  not  wear  they 
hung  about  their  necks. 

Some  came  out  tearing  at  food  like  wolves.  Others 
darted  into  dark  corners  of  the  square  to  hide  their 
prizes.  A  man  appeared  dressed  in  a  woman's  wrap- 
per and  hat,  and  capered  around  the  fire  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  shrieks  of  obscene  laughter. 

There  was  a  continuous  sound  of  rending  and  crash- 
ing from  within  the  store.  The  trader  in  Ambrose 
groaned  to  witness  the  destruction  of  good  weapons 
and  cloth  stuffs  and  food.  Some  one  would  suffer 
for  the  lack  of  it  in  the  winter. 

Within  the  store,  by  the  door,  a  furious  altercation 
arose.  This  was  where  the  case  of  cheap  jewelry 
stood.  Two  men  rolled  out  on  the  platform  fighting. 

Ambrose  saw  a  raised  arm,  and  the  gleam  of  steel. 
After  a  few  moments  one  of  the  men  got  up  and  the 
other  lay  still.  Thereafter,  all  who  went  in  and  came 
out  stepped  indifferently  over  his  body. 

Ambrose  gazed  fascinated  and  oddly  unmoved.  It 
was  like  a  horrible  play  in  a  theater.  The  insane 
yelling  rose  and  fell  intermittently. 

At  last  Ambrose  saw  a  man  detach  himself  from  the 
group  and  run  around  the  square,  darting  behind 
the  houses  for  cover.  The  runner  reappeared  nearer 
to  him,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  Tole.  He  came  to 
him,  running  low  under  shelter  of  the  palings.  He 
thrust  a  rifle  into  Ambrose's  hands. 

"Loaded !"  he  gasped.  "Plenty  more  shells  in  my 
pocket." 

"Did  you  hear  any  talk?"  asked  Ambrose.  "Are 
they  coming  over  here?" 

"Talk  no  sense,"  said  Tole.  "Only  yell.  It  is 
moch  bad.  They  got  whisky." 

"Whisky !"  echoed  Ambrose,  aghast. 

"A  big  jug.     It  was  in  the  store." 

Ambrose's  heart  sank.     "Come,"  he  said  grimly. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

COLINA     RELENTS. 

As  Ambrose  and  Tole  started  in  the  gate  they 
were  hailed  from  the  dark  doorway  under  the  porch. 
"Stand,  or  I  fire !"  It  was  the  voice  of  Macf arlane. 

"It  is  Ambrose  Doane  and  Tole  Grampierre,"  cried 
Ambrose. 

They  heard  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  from 
the  door. 

"What  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  voice. 

"To  help  you  defend  yourselves." 

From  the  sounds  that  reached  him,  Ambrose  gath- 
ered that  the  door  was  open  and  that  Macfarlane 
stood  within  the  hall.  From  farther  back  Colina's 
voice  rang  out : 

"How  dare  you !  Do  you  expect  us  to  believe  you  ? 
Go  back  to  your  friends!" 

"They  are  not  my  men,"  Ambrose  answered  dog- 
gedly. 

"Wait!"  cried  still  another  voice.  Ambrose  recog- 
nized the  smooth  accents  of  Gordon  Strange.  "We 
can't  afford  to  turn  away  any  defenders.  I  say  let 
him  come  in." 

Ambrose  was  surprised,  and  none  too  well  pleased  to 
hear  his  part  taken  in  this  quarter.  There  was  a 
silence.  He  apprehended  that  they  were  consulting  in 
the  hall.  Finally  Macfarlane  called  curtly: 

"You  may  come  in." 

As  he  went  up  the  path  Ambrose  saw  that  the 
windows  of  the  lower  floor  had  been  roughly  boarded 
up.  The  thought  struck  him  oddly :  "How  could  they 
have  had  warning  of  what  was  going  to  happen?" 

170 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  171 

"There's  barbed  wire  around  the  porch,"  said  Mac- 
farlane.  "You'll  have  to  get  over  it  the  best  way 
you  can." 

Ambrose  and  Tole  helped  each  other  through  the 
obstruction.  They  found  Macfarlane  sitting  on  a 
chair  in  the  doorway,  with  his  rifle  across  his  knees. 

"Go  into  the  library,"  he  said. 

The  door  was  on  the  right  hand  as  one  entered  the 
hall.  Within  a  lamp  had  just  been  lighted;  even  as 
Ambrose  entered  Colina  was  turning  up  the  wick. 

Heavy  curtains  had  been  hung  over  the  windows 
to  keep  any  rays  of  light  from  escaping,  and  the  door 
was  instantly  closed  behind  Ambrose  and  Tole. 

Inside  the  little  room  that  he  already  knew  so 
well  Ambrose  found  all  the  defenders  gathered.  The 
only  one  strange  to  him  was  little  Pringle,  the  mis- 
sionary, who  sat  primly  on  the  sofa.  It  had  much  the 
look  of  an  ordinary  evening  party,  but  the  row  of 
guns  by  the  door  told  a  tale. 

John  Gaviller  sat  in  his  swivel  chair  behind  his 
desk,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  Ambrose  was 
shocked  by  the  change  that  three  months'  illness  had 
worked  in  him. 

The  self-assured,  the  scornfully  affable  trader  had 
become  a  mere  pantaloon  with  sunken  cheeks  and  trem- 
bling hands.  Ambrose  looked  with  quick  compassion 
toward  Colina. 

She  went  to  her  father  and  stood  by  his  chair  with 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  She  coldly  ignored  Ambrose's 
glance. 

"What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?"  Gaviller 
demanded  in  a  weak,  harsh  voice. 

"Do  you  know  the  reason  for  this  attack?"  de- 
manded Ambrose. 

Several  voices  answered  "No !" 

"All  the  flour  was  stored  in  Michel  Trudeau's  shack. 
Some  wretch  set  fire  to  it  and  destroyed  it  all.  Natur- 


17«  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

allj  they  thought  it  was  done  by  John  Gaviller's 
orders.  This  is  their  reprisal." 

**You  dared  to  think  we  would  stoop  to  such  a 
thing!"  cried  Colina. 

The  general  animosity  that  he  felt  like  a  wall  around 
him  made  Ambrose  defiant. 

"I  said  they  thought  so,"  he  retorted.  "I  har- 
angued them  until  my  throat  was  sore.  I  couldn't 
hold  them,  and  I  hid  myself  and  came  with  them,  think- 
ing perhaps  I  could  help  you." 

"How  did  they  come?"  asked  Strange  smoothly. 

"In  my  boat  that  they  seized,"  said  Ambrose. 

"It  all  comes  back  to  you  whichever  way  you  trace 
it,"  cried  Gaviller.  "If  you  had  not  attacked  us 
yesterday,  they  would  never  have  dared  to-day !  You 
have  brought  us  to  this!  I  hope  you're  satisfied.  I 
warned  you  what  would  happen  as  a  result  of  your 
tampering  with  the  natives.  If  we're  all  murdered 
it  will  be  on  your  head !" 

"On  the  contrary,  if  we're  murdered  it  will  be  be- 
cause they  found  whiskey  in  your  store,"  retorted 
Ambrose. 

"Impossible !"  cried  Gaviller  and  Strange  together. 

Ambrose  laid  a  hand  on  Tole's  shoulder.  "This 
man  saw  it  on  the  counter,"  he  said.  "I  sent  him  to  the 
store  to  get  guns  for  us  both.  It  had  no  business  to 
be  there,  as  you  all  know." 

"They  must  have  brought  it  with  them,"  said 
Strange.  "I  locked  the  store  myself." 

"Of  course  they  brought  it,"  said  Gaviller. 

"Not  much  use  to  discuss  that  point,"  said  Am- 
brose curtly.  "They  have  it,  and  it  has  robbed  them 
of  the  last  vestiges  of  manhood.  They're  nothing 
but  brutes  now." 

The  old  man  rose.  "Silence !"  he  cried  quaveringly. 
"You  are  insolent!  By  your  light-mindedness  and 
vanity  you  have  raised  a  storm  that  no  man  can  see 
the  end  of!  You  have  plunged  us  into  the  horrors 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  173 

of  Indian  warfare  after  thirty  years'  peace!  How 
dare  you  come  here  and  attempt  to  hector  us !  Silence, 
I  say,  and  keep  your  place!" 

"Father,"  murmured  Colina  remonstratingly.  "You 
must  save  your  strength." 

He  shook  her  off  impatiently.  "Must  I  submit  to 
be  bearded  in  my  own  house  by  this  scamp,  this  fire- 
brand, this  destroyer?" 

Ambrose  could  not  bandy  words  with  this  wreck  of 
a  strong  man.  He  signed  to  Tole,  and  they  went 
outside  and  joined  Macfarlane. 

The  three  of  them  waited  in  the  doorway  in  a  kind 
of  armed  truce,  smoking  and  watching  the  Indians 
across  the  square.  At  any  moment  they  expected  to 
see  the  yelling  demons  turn  against  the  house. 

By  and  by  Ambrose  heard  the  library  door  open. 
The  light  inside  had  been  put  out  again  for  greater 
safety. 

He  heard  Colina  come  out,  and  go  the  other  way 
in  the  passage.  He  knew  her  by  the  rustle  of  her 
skirts.  She  went  up-stairs  on  some  errand. 

His  heart  leaped  up.  He  could  no  longer  deceive 
himself  with  the  fancy  that  he  had  ceased  to  love 
her.  Not  with  death  staring  them  both  in  the  face. 
He  quietly  made  his  way  back  into  the  house  to  inter- 
cept her  on  her  return. 

When  he  heard  her  coming  he  whispered  her  name. 
Here  in  the  middle  of  the  house  it  was  totally  dark. 

"You!"  she  gasped,  stopping  short.  But  the  scorn 
had  gone  out  of  her  voice,  and  somehow  he  knew  that 
he  was  already  in  her  thoughts  when  he  spoke.  He 
put  out  a  hand  toward  her. 

"Don't  touch  me !"  she  whispered,  shrinking  sharply. 

There,  in  the  compelling  darkness,  with  danger  wait- 
ing outside,  they  could  not  hide  their  souls  from  each 
other.  "Colina,"  he  whispered,  "don't  harden  your- 
self against  me  to-night.  I  love  you!" 

Her  breath  came  quickly.      She   could  not   speak. 


174  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Her  anger  against  Ambrose  was,  at  the  best,  a  pumped- 
up  affair.  She  felt  obliged  to  hate  him  because  she 
loved  her  father.  And  her  overweening  pride  had 
supported  it.  All  this  fell  away  now.  She  longed  to 
believe  in  him. 

Perceiving  his  advantage  he  followed  it  close. 

"It  may  be  the  last  night,"  he  whispered.  "I'm 
not  afraid  to  speak  of  death  to  you.  You're  no 
coward.  Colina,  it  would  be  hard  to  die  thinking  that 
you  hated  me!" 

"Don't!"  she  murmured  painfully.  "Don't  try  to 
soften  me.  I  need  to  be  hard." 

"Not  to  me,"  he  whispered.     "I  love  you!" 

She  was  silent.  He  heard  her  breathing  on  a  shaken 
breast. 

"If  I  knew  it  was  my  last  word  I  should  say  the 
same,"  he  went  on.  "I  came  back  to  Enterprise  be- 
cause I  thought  I  had  to  come  to  save  you !" 

"It  hasn't  turned  out  that  way,  has  it?"  she  said 
sadly  and  bitterly. 

"There  is  some  evil  influence  working  against  us 
all,"  he  said.  "If  I  live  I  shall  show  you." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  she  murmured. 

They  were  standing  close  together.  Suddenly  the 
sense  of  her  nearness  in  the  dark,  the  delicate  emana- 
tion of  her  hair,  of  her  whole  person,  overwhelmed  his 
senses  like  a  wave. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  he  murmured  brokenly.  "Those 
devils  outside  can  only  kill  me  once.  You  make  me  die 
a  thousand  deaths!" 

"Ah,  don't!"  she  whispered  sharply.  "Not  now. 
First,  I  must  believe  in  you!" 

He  beat  down  the  passion  that  dizzied  him.  He 
Sought  for  her  hand  and  gripped  it  firmly.  She  al- 
lowed it.  "Listen,"  he  said.  "Take  me  into  the  light 
and  look  in  my  eyes." 

Her  hand  turned  in  his  and  took  command  of  it, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  175 

drawing  him  after  her.  Crossing  the  stair-hall  they 
entered  the  dining-room.  Colina  closed  the  door  and 
lighted  the  lamp. 

Ambrose  gazed  at  her  hungrily.  She  came  to  him 
straight  and,  offering  him  both  her  hands,  looked 
deep  into  his  eyes. 

"Now  tell  me,"  she  murmured. 

This  was  the  real  Colina,  simple  as  a  child.  Her 
eyes — the  lamp  being  behind  her — showed  as  deep 
and  dark  as  the  night  sky. 

Her  lovely  face  yearned  up  to  his,  and  Ambrose's 
self-command  tottered  again — but  this  was  no  mo- 
ment for  passion.  His  voice  shook,  but  his  eyes  were 
as  steady  as  hers. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "When  you  hated 
me  most  I  was  doing  the  best  for  you  that  I  could. 
I — I'm  afraid  I  sound  like  a  prig.  But  it  is  the  truth. 
I  stood  out  against  you  when  I  thought  you  were 
wrong  because  I  loved  you!" 

Her  eyes  fell.  Her  hands  crept  confidingly  up  his 
arms.  "Ah!  I  want  so  to  believe  it,"  she  faltered. 

He  thought  he  had  won  her  again.  His  arms  swept 
around  her,  crushing  her  to  him.  "My  love !"  he  mur- 
mured. 

She  went  slack  in  his  arms  and  coldly  averted  her 
head.  "Do  not  kiss  me,"  she  said. 

He  instantly   released  her. 

"It's  not  the  time,"  she  murmured.  "It  seems  hor- 
rible to-night.  I — I  am  not  ready.  By  what  happens 
to-night  I  will  know  for  always !" 

"But,  Colina — "  he  began. 

She  offered  him  her  hand  with  a  beseeching  air. 
"I  do  not  hate  you  any  more,"  she  said  quickly.  "You 
have  a  lot  to  forgive  in  me,  too.  Be  merciful  to  me. 
Show  me — to-night." 

He  drew  a  steadying  breath.  "Very  well,"  he  said. 
"I  am  contented." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

ACCUSED. 

THE  long  suspense  wore  terribly  on  the  defenders 
of  the  house. 

To  wait  inactive,  listening  to  the  frightful  yelling 
and  watching  the  play  of  the  fire,  not  knowing  at  what 
moment  yelling,  bullets,  and  fire  might  be  directed 
at  themselves,  was  disorganizing  to  the  stoutest  nerves. 

When  the  attack  should  come  all  knew  that  their 
refuge  was  more  like  a  trap  than  a  fortress.  Am- 
brose wished  to  abandon  the  house  for  the  Catholic 
church  up  the  river. 

This  little  structure  was  stoutly  built  of  squared 
logs ;  moreover,  it  was  possible  that  some  lingering  re- 
ligious feeling  might  restrain  the  Indians  from  firing 
it. 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  suspicion.  John 
Gaviller  refused  point-blank  to  leave  his  house. 

As  the  hours  passed  without  any  change  in  the 
situation  they  began  to  feel  as  if  they  could  endure  no 
more.  They  were  almost  ready  to  wish  that  the  sav- 
ages might  attack  them  and  have  done  with  it. 

They  endlessly  and  vainly  discussed  what  might  be 
passing  in  the  red  men's  minds.  Tole  Grampierre, 
hearing  this  talk,  offered  to  go  and  find  out. 

There  was  no  danger  to  him,  he  said.  Even  if  they 
should  discover  that  he  was  not  one  of  themselves, 
they  had  no  quarrel  with  his  people.  Ambrose  let  him 

go- 
He  never  returned.    Ambrose  and  Macfarlane  helped 
him  through  the  barbed  wire,  and  he  set  off,  making 
a  wide  d4tour  behind  the  houses  that  faced  the  river, 

176 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  177 

meaning    to    join    the    Indians    from    the    other    side. 

Most  of  the  Indians  had  for  some  time  been  engaged 
in  rifling  the  warehouse,  which  adjoined  the  store  be- 
hind. 

Ambrose  and  Macfarlane,  anxiously  watching  from 
the  porch,  heard  a  sudden  outcry  raised  in  this  quarter, 
and  saw  a  man  come  running  desperately  around  the 
corner  of  the  store,  pursued  by  a  howling  dozen. 

Ambrose  knew  the  runner  by  his  rakish,  broad- 
brimmed  hat  and  flying  sash.  His  heart  leaped  into 
the  race.  Tole  was  gaining. 

"Go  it !    Go  it !"  Ambrose  cried. 

Tole  was  not  bringing  his  pursuers  back  to  the  big 
house,  but  led  the  way  off  to  one  side  by  the  quarters. 
Only  a  few  yards  separated  him  from  the  all-conceal- 
ing darkness. 

"He's  safe !"  murmured  Ambrose. 

At  the  same  moment  half  of  Tole's  pursuers  stopped 
dead,  and  their  rifles  barked.  The  flying  figure  spun 
around  with  uptossed  arms,  and  plunged  to  the  ground. 

Ambrose  groaned  from  the  bottom  of  his  breast. 
Nerved  by  a  blind  rage,  his  own  gun  instinctively 
went  up.  He  could  have  picked  off  one  or  two  from 
where  he  stood.  Macfarlane  flung  a  restraining  arm 
around  him. 

"Stop!  You'll  bring  the  whole  mob  down  on  us!" 
he  cried.  He  looked  at  Ambrose  not  unkindly.  The 
sacrifice  of  Tole  obliged  him  to  change  his  attitude. 

Ambrose  turned  in  the  door,  silently  grinding  his 
teeth.  At  the  end  of  the  passage  he  found  a  chair,  and 
dropped  upon  it,  holding  his  head  between  his  hands. 

The  face  of  Tole  as  he  had  first  beheld  it — proud, 
comely,  and  full  of  health — rose  before  him  vividly. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  said  to  himself  then: 
"Here  is  one  young,  like  myself,  that  I  can  make  a 
friend  of."  And  almost  the  last  thing  Tole  had  said 
to  him  was:  "I  am  your  friend." 


178  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

It  was  his  youth  and  good  looks  that  made  it  seem 
most  horrible.  Ambrose  pictured  the  bloody  ruin  ly- 
ing in  the  square,  and  shuddered. 

Gordon  Strange  offered  to  go  out  in  order  to  make 
sure  that  Tole  was  beyond  aid.  It  seemed  like  a 
kindly  impulse,  but  Ambrose  suspected  its  genuine- 
ness. 

Even  from  where  they  were,  a  glance  at  the  huddled 
figure  was  enough  to  tell  the  truth.  None  of  the 
others  would  hear  of  Strange' s  going.  Colina  and 
Giddings  pleaded  with  him.  Gaviller  forbade  him. 
Strange  with  seeming  reluctance  finally  gave  in. 

Whenever  he  witnessed  such  evidences  of  their  trust 
in  the  half-breed  Ambrose's  lip  curled  in  the  darkness. 
He  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  Strange  was 
a  blackguard. 

Evidence  he  had  none,  only  his  warning  intuition, 
which,  among  the  male  sex  at  least,  is  not  considered 
much  to  go  on. 

It  gave  Ambrose  a  shrewd  little  twinge  of  jealousy 
to  hear  Colina  begging  this  man  not  to  risk  his  life 
by  leaving  the  house. 

About  three  o'clock  it  began  to  seem  as  if  they 
might  allow  themselves  to  relax  a  little.  The  mad- 
ness of  the  Indians  had  burned  itself  out.  There 
had  not  been  enough  whisky  perhaps  to  maintain  it 
for  more  than  a  few  hours. 

In  any  case,  since  the  whites  had  been  spared  at 
the  height  of  their  fury,  it  seemed  reasonable  to  hope 
they  might  escape  altogether.  The  yelling  had  ceased. 

Most  of  the  men  were  now  engaged  in  carrying 
flour  and  other  goods  down  to  the  york  boat.  The 
watchers  from  the  house  wondered  if  they  dared  believe 
this  signified  an  early  departure. 

As  the  tension  let  down  it  could  be  seen  that  John 
Gaviller  was  on  the  verge  of  a  collapse.  Colina  strove 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  179 

with   him   to  go   to  his    room   and   rest   on   his   bed. 

He  finally  consented  upon  condition  that  she  lay 
in  her  own  room  up-stairs.  Colina  and  Gordon  Strange 
half  led,  half  carried  the  old  man  up-stairs. 

Strange,  returning,  relieved  Macfarlane's  watch  at 
the  side  door.  Macfarlane,  Ambrose,  Giddings,  and 
Pringle  lay  down  on  the  sofa  and  on  the  floor  of  the 
library. 

Three  of  them  were  almost  instantly  asleep.  Not 
so  Ambrose.  As  soon  as  he  saw  the  half-breed  left 
in  sole  charge  his  smoldering  suspicions  leaped  into  ac- 
tivity. 

"If  he's  meditating  anything  queer  this  is  the  time 
he'll  start  it!"  he  thought.  He  took  care  to  choose 
his  position  on  the  floor  nearest  the  door.  He  left 
the  door  open. 

From  the  outside  only  occasional  sounds  came  now. 
The  Indians  were  busy  and  silent.  Within  the  house  it 
was  so  still  that  Ambrose  could  hear  Gordon  Strange 
puffing  at  his  pipe. 

The  half-breed  was  sitting  in  the  doorway  outside, 
with  his  chair  tipped  back  against  the  wall.  By  and 
by  Ambrose  heard  the  front  legs  of  the  chair  drop 
to  the  floor,  and  an  instinct  of  caution  bade  him  close 
his  eyes  and  breathe  deeply  like  a  man  asleep. 

Sure  enough  Strange  came  into  the  library.  He 
was  taking  no  pains  to  be  silent.  Stepping  over  Am- 
brose he  crossed  to  the  mantel,  where  he  fumbled  for 
matches,  and  striking  one  made  believe  to  relight  his 
pipe. 

Now  Ambrose  knew  that  Strange  had  matches,  for 
when  they  took  John  Gaviller  up  he  had  seen  him 
light  the  lamp  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  return 
the  box  to  his  pocket. 

This  then  must  be  a  reconnoitering  expedition. 
Ambrose  had  no  doubt  that  when  the  match  flared  up 
the  half-breed  took  a  survey  of  the  sleeping  men. 


180  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

He  left  the  room,  and  Ambrose  heard  the  chair 
tipped  back  against  the  wall  once  more. 

A  little  later  Ambrose  became  conscious  that 
Strange  was  at  the  library  door  again,  though  this 
time  he  had  not  heard  him  come. 

He  paused  a  second  and  passed  away  as  silently 
as  a  ghost — but  whether  back  to  his  chair  or  farther 
into  the  house  Ambrose  could  not  tell. 

Rising  swiftly  to  his  hands  and  knees  he  stuck  his 
head  out  of  the  door.  There  was  light  enough  from 
the  outside  to  reveal  the  outlines  of  the  chair — empty. 

Without  a  thought  Ambrose  turned  in  the  other 
direction  and  crept  swiftly  and  softly  through  the 
passage  into  the  stair  hall.  He  did  not  know  what  he 
expected  to  find.  His  heart  beat  thick  and  fast. 

He  scarcely  suspected  danger  to  Colina,  who  was 
strong  and  brave.  Was  it  her  father?  Reaching  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  he  heard  a  velvet  footfall  above. 

He  hastened  up  on  all  fours.  The  stairs  were 
thickly  carpeted.  Gaining  the  top  his  strained  ears 
detected  the  whisper  of  a  sound  that  suggested  the 
closing  of  Gaviller's  door. 

He  knew  the  room.  It  was  over  the  drawing-room, 
and  cut  off  from  the  other  rooms  of  the  house.  To 
reach  the  door  one  had  to  pass  around  the  rail  of  the 
upper  landing. 

Arriving  at  the  door  he  did  indeed  find  it  closed. 
Under  the  circumstances  he  was  sure  Colina  would 
have  left  it  open. 

He  did  not  stop  to  think  of  what  he  was  doing. 
With  infinite  slow  patience  he  turned  the  knob  with 
one  hand,  holding  his  electric  torch  ready  in  the  other. 

When  the  door  parted  he  flashed  the  light  on  the 
spot  where  he  knew  the  bed  stood.  The  picture 
vividly  revealed  in  the  little  circle  of  light  realized 
his  unacknowledged  fears. 

He  saw  Strange  kneeling  on  the  bed,  his  face  hide- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  181 

ously  distorted,  his  two  hands  at  the  old  man's  throat. 

Strange  yelped  once  in  mingled  terror  and  rage  like 
an  animal  surprised — and  with  the  quickness  of  an 
animal  sprang  at  Ambrose. 

The  two  men  went  down  with  a  crash  athwart  the 
sill,  and  the  door  slammed  back  against  the  wall. 
There  was  a  desperate  struggle  on  the  floor. 

Strange  was  nerved  with  the  strength  of  a  mad- 
man. He  could  not  have  seen  who  it  was  that  sur- 
prised him,  but  in  that  frantic  embrace  he  learned. 

"It's  you,  is  it?"  he  snarled.     "I've  got  you  now!" 

Forthwith  he  began  to  shout  lustily  for  help.  "Mac- 
farlane!  Giddings!" 

Colina  was  already  out  of  her  room.  She  did  not 
scream.  The  three  men  were  on  the  stairs. 

"Bring  a  light!"  gasped  both  the  struggling  men. 

It  was  Colina  who  lit  a  lamp  and  carried  it  out 
into  the  hall  with  a  steady  hand.  Ambrose  was  seen 
to  be  uppermost.  Recognizing  the  two  men  her  face 
darkened  with  anger. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  cried.  "Get  up  in- 
stantly !" 

Ambrose  wrenched  himself  free  and  stood  up. 

"Don't  let  him  escape!"  cried  Strange. 

Ambrose  laughed  a  single  note. 

"He  tried  to  kill  your  father  1"  panted  Strange. 
"I  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time!" 

Ambrose  gasped  and  fell  back  in  astonishment. 
Such  stupendous  effrontery  was  beyond  the  scope  of 
his  imagination. 

"It's  a  lie !"  he  cried.  "It  was  I  who  discovered  him 
in  the  act  of  strangling  your  father !" 

Then  for  the  first  Colina  swayed.  "Oh,  God!"  she 
murmured,  "have  we  all  gone  mad!" 

Macfarlane  seized  the  lamp  from  her  failing  hand. 
Colina  ran  unevenly  into  her  father's  room.  They 
heard  her  cry  out  within.  Giddings  ran  to  her  aid. 


182  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

He  made  a  light  in  the  room  and  closed  the  door.  The 
little  parson  moaned  and  wrung  his  hands. 

Macfarlane  had  drawn  his  revolver.  "If  you  make 
a  move  I'll  shoot  you  down!"  he.  said  to  Ambrose — 
thus  making  it  clear  whose  story  he  believed. 

"You  can  put  it  up,"  said  Ambrose  coolly.  "I'm 
going  to  see  this  thing  through." 

Strange  had  got  his  grip  again.  His  smoothness 
was  largely  restored.  He  actually  laughed.  "He's 
a  cool  hand!"  he  said. 

"You  damned  black  villain!"  said  Ambrose  softly. 
"I  know  you  now.  And  you  know  that  I  know  you !" 

It  did  not  improve  Ambrose's  case  to  say  it,  but  he 
felt  better.  The  half-breed  changed  color  and  edged 
behind  Macfarlane's  gun. 

Colina  presently  reappeared,  showing  a  white  and 
stony  face.  "Mr.  Pringle,"  she  said,  "go  down  and 
lock  the  side  door  and  bring  me  the  key.  The  rest 
of  you  go  to  the  library  and  wait  for  me." 

Ambrose  flushed  darkly.  That  Colina  should  even 
for  a  moment  hold  the  balance  between  him  and  the 
half-breed  made  him  burn  with  anger.  Passionate 
reproaches  leaped  to  his  lips,  but  pride  forced  them 
back. 

Turning  stiffly  he  marched  downstairs  before  Mac- 
farlane without  a  word.  She  should  suffer  for  this 
when  he  was  exonerated,  he  vowed.  That  he  might 
not  be  exonerated  immediately  did  not  occur  to  him. 

In  the  library  Strange  and  Macfarlane  whispered 
together.  When  Pringle  rejoined  them  all  were  silent. 
For  upward  of  ten  minutes  they  waited,  facing  each 
other  grimly. 

The  strain  was  too  great  for  the  nerves  of  the  little 
parson.  He  finally  broke  into  a  kind  of  terrified,  dry 
sobbing. 

"For  God's  sake  say  something !"  he  faltered.  "This 
is  too  horrible!" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  183 

Macfarlane  glanced  at  him  with  a  contemptuous  pity 
and  stood  a  little  aside  from  the  door.  "Better  go  into 
the  front  room,"  he  said.  "You  can't  do  any  good 
here." 

The  little  man  shook  his  head,  and  going  to  the 
window  turned  his  back  on  them  and  endeavored  to 
master  his  shaking. 

Shortly  afterward  Colina  came  down-stairs.  At  her 
entrance  all  looked  the  question  none  dared  put  into 
words. 

Colina  veiled  her  eyes.  "My  father  only  fainted," 
she  said  levelly.  "Dr.  Giddings  says  he  is  little  worse 
than  before." 

A  long  breath  escaped  from  her  hearers. 

Strange  cunningly  contrived  to  get  his  story  out 
first.  As  he  spoke  all  eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground* 
They  could  not  face  the  horror  of  the  other  eyes. 

Pringle  was  obliged  to  sit  on  the  sofa  to  control 
the  trembling  of  his  limbs.  The  others  stood — Macfar- 
lane, Colina,  and  Strange  near  the  door — Ambrose 
facing  them  from  in  front  of  the  desk. 

"You  will  remember,"  Strange  began  collectedly, 
"it  was  I  who  advised  that  this  man  should  be  admitted 
to  the  house.  I  thought  we  could  watch  him  better 
from  the  inside.  I  have  never  ceased  to  watch  him 
from  that  moment. 

"When  you  all  turned  in  and  I  was  left  at  the  side 
door  I  kept  my  eye  on  this  room.  The  last  time  I 
looked  in  I  saw  that  he  had  disappeared.  He  had 
slipped  so  softly  down  the  hall  I  had  not  heard  any- 
thing. 

"I  instantly  thought  of  danger  to  those  up-stairs, 
and  crept  up  as  quickly  as  I  could  without  making 
any  sound.  I  found  the  door  of  Mr.  Caviller's  room 
closed.  I  knew  Miss  Colina  had  left  it  open.  I  opened 
it  softly,  and  saw  Doane  on  the  bed  with  his  hands  at 
Mr.  Caviller's  throat." 


184  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

A  shuddering  breath  escaped  from  Colina.  The 
little  parson  moaned. 

"He  sprang  at  me,"  Strange  went  one.  "We  rolled 
on  the  ground.  I  called  for  help,  and  you  all  came. 
That  is  all." 

Ambrose  was  staggered  by  the  breed's  satanic  clever- 
ness. After  this  his  own  story  must  sound  like  a  pitiful 
imitation.  He  could  never  tell  it  now  with  the  same 
assurance. 

"Surely,  surely  they  must  know  that  a  true  man 
couldn't  take  it  so  coolly,"  he  thought.  But  they 
were  convinced;  he  could  see  it  in  their  faces. 

He  felt  as  powerless  as  a  dreamer  in  the  grip  of  a 
nightmare. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CONVICTED. 

WHEN  Strange  finished  there  was  a  significant  si- 
lence. They  were  waiting  for  Ambrose  to  speak.  Stif- 
fening himself  he  told  his  story  as  manfully  as  he 
could.  Conscious  of  its  weakness  he  wore  a  hang- 
dog air  which  contrasted  unfavorably  with  Strange's 
seeming  candor. 

No  comment  was  made  upon  it.  Ambrose  could  feel 
their  unexpressed  sneers  like  goads  in  the  raw  flesh. 
Only  Colina  gave  no  sign.  Macfarlane  turned  to  her 
for  instructions. 

She  contrived  to  maintain  her  proud  and  stony  air 
up  to  the  moment  she  was  obliged  to  speak.  But  her 
self-command  went  out  with  her  shuddering  voice.  "I 
— I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  whispered  trem- 
blingly. 

"Surely  there  can  be  no  question  here!"  cried 
Strange  with  a  voice  full  of  reproachful  indignation. 
"I  have  served  Mr.  Gaviller  faithfully  for  nearly 
thirty  years.  This  man's  whole  aim  has  been  to  ruin 
him!"  " 

"This  is  the  tone  I  should  be  taking  instead  of  let- 
ting him  run  me  out,"  Ambrose  thought  dispassion- 
ately, as  if  it  were  somebody  else.  But  he  remained 
dumb. 

"What  earthly  reason  could  I  have  for  trying  to 
injure  my  benefactor?"  cried  Strange.  His  voice 
broke  artistically  on  the  final  word.  "You  all  know 
what  I  think  of  him.  Your  suspicions  hurt  me !" 

Macfarlane  crossed  over  and  clapped  him  on  the 
shoulder.  Colina  kept  her  eyes  down.  She  was  very 

185 


186  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

pale ;  her  lips  were  compressed  and  her  hands  clenched 
at  her  sides. 

Ambrose  bestirred  himself  to  his  own  defense.  "Let 
me  ask  a  question,"  he  said  quietly  to  Strange.  "You 
say  when  you  opened  the  door  you  saw  me  with  my 
hands  on  Mr.  Gaviller.  How  could  you  see  me?" 

"With  my  electric  flash-light,"  Strange  instantly 
answered. 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Ambrose.  "The  flash-light  was 
mine.  I  can  prove  it  by  a  dozen  witnesses." 

"Produce  it,"  said  Strange  sneering. 

"You  knocked  it  out  of  my  hand,"  said  Ambrose. 
"It  will  be  found  somewhere  on  the  floor  up-stairs." 

Strange  drew  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket.  "On  the 
contrary,  it  is  here,"  he  said.  "And  it  has  never  been 
out  of  my  possession.  As  to  your  identifying  it,  there 
are  dozens  like  it  in  the  country.  It  is  the  style  all  the 
stores  carry." 

Ambrose  shrugged.  "I've  nothing  more  to  say,"  he 
said.  "The  man  is  a  liar.  The  truth  is  bound  to  come 
out  in  the  end." 

The  white  men  paid  little  attention  to  this,  but  it 
stung  Strange  to  reply.  "If  Mr.  Gaviller  were  able 
to  speak  he'd  soon  decide  between  us !" 

At  that  moment,  as  if  Strange's  speech  had  evoked 
him,  they  heard  Giddings  in  the  hall. 

"Has  he  spoken?"  they  asked  breathlessly. 

Colina  kept  her  eyes  hidden. 

Giddings  nodded.  "He  sent  me  down-stairs  to  order 
Macfarlane  to  arrest  Doane." 

Colina  fell  back  against  the  door-frame  with  a  hand 
to  her  breast.  "Did  he — did  he  see  him?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"No,"  said  Giddings  reluctantly.  "He  did  not  see 
his  assailant.  But  said  to  accuse  Strange  of  the  deed 
was  the  act  of  a  desperate  criminal." 

"You're  under  arrest!"  Macfarlane  said  bruskly  to 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  187 

Ambrose.  Turning  to  Colina,  he  added  deprecatingly : 
"You  had  better  leave  the  room,  Miss  Gaviller. 

She  shook  her  head.  Clearly  speech  was  beyond  her. 
Not  once  during  the  scene  had  Ambrose  been  able  to 
see  her  eyes.  Macfarlane  waited  a  moment  for  her 
to  go,  then  shrugged  deprecatingly. 

"Will  you  submit  to  handcuffs  or  must  I  force  you?" 
he  demanded  of  Ambrose. 

Ambrose  did  not  hear  him.  His  eyes  were  fastened 
on  Colina.  So  long  as  he  was  tortured  by  a  doubt  of 
her  he  was  oblivious  to  everything  else. 

The  heart  knows  no  logic.  It  deals  directly  with 
the  heart.  Love  looks  for  loyalty  as  its  due.  Am- 
brose was  amazed  and  incredulous  and  sickened  by  his 
love's  apparent  faint-heartedness. 

"Colina!"  he  cried  indignantly,  "have  you  nothing 
to  say?  Do  you  believe  this  lie?" 

Her  agonized  eyes  flew  to  his — full  of  passionate 
gratitude  to  hear  him  defend  himself.  His  scorn  both 
abased  and  overjoyed  her.  Her  heart  knew. 

None  of  the  others  recognized  what  was  passing  in 
those  glances. 

Macfarlane  took  a  step  forward.  "Here!  Leave 
Miss  Gaviller  out  of  this !"  he  said  harshly. 

Ambrose  did  not  look  at  him,  but  his  hand  clenched 
ready  to  strike.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Colina,  de- 
manding an  answer. 

Color  came  back  to  her  cheeks  and  firmness  to  her 
voice.  "Stop!"  she  cried  to  Macfarlane  in  her  old 
imperious  way.  "I'm  the  mistress  here.  My  father 
is  incapable  of  giving  orders.  You've  no  right  to  judge 
this  man.  None  of  us  can  choose.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence. I  will  not  have  either  one  handcuffed!" 

Macfarlane  fell  back  disconcerted.  "I  was  think- 
ing of  your  father's  safety,"  he  muttered. 

"I  will  watch  over  him  myself,"  she  said.  She  went 
swiftly  up  the  stairs. 


188  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Ambrose  sat  by  himself  on  a  chair  at  the  junction 
of  the  side  passage  with  the  stair  hall.  Naturally, 
after  what  had  passed,  he  avoided  the  other  men — and 
they  him. 

It  was  growing  light.  He  saw  the  panes  of  the 
side  door  gray  and  whiten.  Later  he  could  make  out 
the  damaged  front  of  the  store  across  the  square. 

Macfarlane  was  again  upon  watch  by  the  door. 
Strange  and  Pringle  were  in  the  library.  Giddings 
was  with  Colina  and  the  sick  man  up-stairs. 

Ambrose  watched  the  coming  of  day  with  grim 
eyes.  He  had  had  plenty  of  time  to  consider  his 
situation.  True,  Colina  had  not  failed  him,  but  he  did 
not  minimize  the  dangers  ahead. 

He  knew  something  of  the  uncertainty  of  men's 
justice.  Out  of  the  tumult  of  rage  that  had  at  first 
shattered  him  had  been  born  a  resolve  to  guard  him- 
self warily. 

Daylight  had  an  odd  effect  of  novelty.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  years  separated  him  from  the  previous  day. 

Strange  came  out  of  the  library  to  take  an  obser- 
vation. At  the  sight  of  him  Ambrose's  eyes  burned. 
If  scorn  could  kill  the  half-breed  would  have  fallen. 
in  his  tracks. 

"They're  still  quiet,"  remarked  Macfarlane. 

"Too  quiet,"  said  Strange.  "If  they  made  a  noise 
we  could  guess  what  they  were  up  to!" 

The  two  men  held  a  low-voiced  colloquy  by  the  door. 
Ambrose  supposed  that  Strange  was  again  offering  to 
go  out  to  reconnoiter.  The  policeman  was  expostulat- 
ing with  him. 

He  heard  Strange  say:  "I'm  afraid  they  may  at- 
tempt to  wreck  the  mill  before  they  go.  That  would 
be  fatal  for  all  of  us.  I  had  no  opportunity  yester- 
day to  put  on  new  locks." 

Macfarlane  begged  Strange  not  to  risk  himself. 

"He's  safe  enough,"  thought  Ambrose  grimlj. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  189 

Strange  finally  had  his  way. 

Ambrose  speculated  on  what  his  real  object  might 
be.  "That  bull-headed  redcoat  is  likely  to  get  a  sur- 
prise!" he  thought. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  half-breed  returned. 
Macfarlane  warmly  grasped  his  hand. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Strange.  "I  went  straight  up 
to  them.  I  had  no  trouble.  Even  now  the  older  heads 
are  thinking  of  the  consequences.  I  think  they'll  be 
gone  directly." 

After  some  further  talk  in  low  tones  Strange  went 
back  into  the  library,  and  Macfarlane  sat  down  with 
his  gun  across  his  knees. 

Once  more  quiet  ruled  the  house.  Ambrose's  head 
fell  forward  on  his  breast  and  he  slept  uneasily. 

He  was  roused  by  the  cry  they  had  waited  all  night 
in  dread  of  hearing:  "They're  coming!" 

Strange  and  Pringle  ran  out  into  the  hall.  Low 
as  the  cry  was  it  was  heard  above.  Colina  and  Gid- 
dings  came  flying  down-stairs.  Ambrose  had  already 
joined  the  others. 

In  the  face  of  the  deadly  danger  that  threatened 
the  men  forgot  their  animosity  for  the  moment.  They 
were  all  crowded  together  in  the  narrow  passage,  far 
enough  back  from  the  closed  door  to  see  through  the 
panes  without  being  seen. 

The  five  whites  were  afraid,  as  they  might  well  be 
— but  without  panic.  The  half-breed  was  suspiciously 
calm.  They  lacked  an  unquestioned  leader. 

"That  is  Myengeen  leading  them,"  said  Strange; 
«a  bad  Indian!" 

"Macfarlane — tell  us  what  to  do,"  said  Giddings. 

"They're  quiet  now,"  said  Colina.  "I  shall  speak 
to  them!" 

Macfarlane  put  out  a  restraining  hand.  "Leave  this 
to  me!"  he  said  quickly. 


190  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"We're  in  each  other's  way  here,"  cried  Ambrose. 
"Let  us  spread  through  some  of  the  rooms.'* 

"Right!"  said  Macfarlane.  "Doane,  Giddings,  and 
Miss  Colina — go  into  the  library  and  throw  up  the 
windows  on  this  side.  Shoot  between  the  boards  if  I 
give  the  word.  The  guns  are  inside  the  door." 

A  cry  from  Strange  brought  them  out  into  the  hall 
again.  "They've  raised  a  white  flag!  They  want  to 
parley  not  to  fight." 

The  others  murmured  their  relief. 

"Open  the  door!"  cried  Strange.  "I  will  speak  to 
them." 

Ambrose  fell  back  a  little.  The  other  men  crowded 
around  Strange,  urging  him  to  be  careful  of  himself. 
Strange  was  doing  the  modest  hero! 

It  was  a  pretty  little  play.  At  the  sight  of  it  a 
harsh  jangle  of  laughter  rang  inside  Ambrose.  Colina 
took  no  part  in  the  scene. 

Strange  stepped  out  on  the  porch.  Ambrose  heard 
him  speaking  the  uncouth  Kakisa  tongue,  and  heard 
the  murmur  of  replies.  He  would  have  given  a  bale 
of  furs  to  understand  what  was  being  said. 

The  exchange  was  brief.  Strange  presently  stepped 
inside  and  said: 

"They  say  they  want  their  leader — Ambrose 
Doane." 

A  dead  silence  fell  on  the  little  group.  They  turned 
and  stared  at  Ambrose.  He,  for  the  moment,  was 
stunned  with  astonishment.  He  was  aware  only  of 
Colina's  stricken,  white  face.  She  looked  as  if  she  had 
been  shot. 

"They  say  they  are  ready  to  go,"  Strange  went  on. 
"They  promise  to  make  no  more  trouble  if  we  give 
Doane  up.  If  we  refuse,  they  say  they  will  take  him, 
anyway." 

"It's  an  infernal  lie!"  cried  Ambrose  desperately. 
"I  am  no  leader  of  theirs !" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  191 

She  did  not  believe  him.  Her  eyes  lost  all  their 
luster  and  her  lovely  face  looked  ashen.  She  seemed 
about  to  fall. 

Giddings  went  to  her  aid,  but  she  pushed  him  away. 
She  seemed  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  ethers. 
Her  accusing  eyes  were  fixed  on  Ambrose. 

"I  believed  in  you,"  she  murmured  in  a  dead  voice. 
"I  believed  in  you !  Oh,  God !"  Her  hands  were  flung 
up  in  a  despairing  gesture.  "Let  him  go !"  she  cried 
to  Macfarlane  over  her  shoulder,  and  ran  down  the 
hall  and  up  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    CHANGE    OF    JAILERS. 

THERE  was  a  significant  silence  in  the  passage  whe* 
Colina  had  gone. 

Finally  Macfarlane  said  stubbornly,  "He's  my  pris- 
oner. It's  my  duty  to  hold  him  against  any  odds.  It's 
the  first  rule  of  the  service." 

Giddings  and  Pringle  urgently  remonstrated  with 
him.  Strange  held  apart  as  if  he  considered  it  none 
of  his  business.  At  last,  with  a  deprecating  air,  he 
added  his  voice  to  the  other  men's. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  smoothly;  "you  know  best,  of 
course;  but  aren't  there  times  when  a  soldier  must 
make  his  own  rules?  All  of  us  men  would  stand  by 
you  gladly,  but  there's  a  sick  man  up-stairs  that  they 
have  been  taught  to  hate.  And  a  woman." 

Macfarlane  gave  in  with  a  shrug.  "I  suppose  you'll 
stand  by  me  if  I'm  hauled  up  for  it,"  he  grumbled. 

He  drew  his  revolver  and  stood  aside  to  let  Ambrose 
pass.  The  others  likewise  drew  back,  as  from  one 
marked  with  the  plague.  Every  face  was  hard  with 
scorn. 

Ambrose  kept  his  eyes  straight  ahead.  When  he 
appeared  on  the  porch,  cries,  apparently  of  welcome, 
were  raised  by  the  Kakisas. 

Ambrose  supposed  that  Strange  had  made  a  deal 
with  the  Kakisas  to  put  him  out  of  the  way.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  was  going  straight  to  his  death. 

He  accepted  it  sooner  than  make  an  appeal  to  those 
who  scorned  him.  He  wished  to  speak  to  them  before 
he  went;  but  it  was  to  warn  them,  not  to  ask  for  aid 
for  himself. 

192 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  193 

He  faced  the  little  group  in  the  doorway.  "I  tell 
you  again,"  he  said,  "this  is  all  a  put-up  job.  You 
know  nothing  of  what  is  going  on  but  what  this  breed 
chooses  to  tell  you.  He's  a  liar  and  a  murderer.  If 
you  put  yourselves  in  his  hands,  so  much  the  worse 
for  you." 

The  white  men  laughed  in  Ambrose's  face.  The 
breed  smiled  deprecatingly  and  forgivingly. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  and  be  thankful  you're  getting 
off  so  easy,"  Macfarlane  said,  full  of  honest  contempt. 

Ambrose  became  very  pale.  He  turned  his  back  on 
them,  and,  climbing  over  the  wire  barrier,  marched 
stiffly  down  to  the  gate.  The  consciousness  of  inno- 
cence is  supposed  to  be  sufficient  to  armor  a  man 
against  any  slanders,  but  this  is  only  partially  true. 

When  one's  accusers  are  honest,  their  scorn  hurts, 
hurts  more  than  any  other  wound  we  are  capable  of  re- 
ceiving. Ambrose  was  of  the  type  that  rages  against 
a  hurt.  At  present,  for  all  he  was  outwardly  so  pale 
and  still,  he  was  deafened  and  blinded  by  rage. 

It  was  now  full  daylight.  An  extraordinary  pic- 
ture faced  the  watchers  from  the  doorway — the  ruined 
store  in  the  background,  the  grotesque  crew  hanging 
to  the  fence  palings. 

Their  ordinary  rags  were  covered  with  layers  of 
misfit  clothing  out  of  the  store,  while  many  of  them 
wore  several  hats,  and  others  had  extra  pairs  of 
shoes  hanging  around  their  necks. 

There  was  a  great  display  of  gaudy  silk  handker- 
chiefs. Pockets  bulged  with  small  articles  of  loot,  and 
nearly  every  man  lugged  some  particular  treasure  ac- 
cording to  his  fancy,  whether  it  was  an  alarm  clock  or 
a  glass  pitcher  or  a  bolt  of  red  flannel. 

The  younger  men,  still  susceptible  to  gallantry, 
mostly  were  burdened  with  crushed  articles  of  feminine 
finery,  gaily  trimmed  hats,  red  or  blue  shawls,  fancy 
satin  bodices,  corsets  with  the  strings  dangling. 


194  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  faces,  after  a  night  of  unbridled  license,  showed 
dull  and  slack  in  the  daylight. 

Myengeen,  whom  Ambrose  had  marked  earlier  as  a 
leader  of  the  mob,  gripped  his  hand  at  the  gate  and 
cried  out  with  hypocritical  joy.  Others  crowded 
around,  those  who  could  not  obtain  his  hands,  stroking 
his  sleeves  and  fawning  upon  him. 

There  was  an  ironical  note  in  the  demonstration. 
Ambrose  observed  that  the  majority  of  the  Indians 
looked  on  indifferently.  He  smelled  treachery  in  the 
air. 

The  mob,  facing  about,  started  to  move  in  open 
order  toward  the  river.  Ambrose,  as  they  opened  up, 
caught  sight  of  the  two  dead  bodies.  It  afflicted  him 
with  a  chill  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach — these  were  the 
first  deaths  by  violence  he  had  witnessed. 

They  still  lay  where  they  had  fallen — the  Indian 
sprawling  in  the  middle  of  a  black  stain  on  the  plat- 
form; Tole  huddled  on  the  bare  earth  of  the  quad- 
rangle. Ambrose's  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  re- 
turning to  Simon  Grampierre  with  the  gift  of  a  dead 
son. 

The  Indians  gave  no  regard  to  the  bodies — ap- 
parently they  meant  to  leave  them  behind.  Ambrose 
with  no  uncertain  gestures  commanded  Myengeen  to 
have  them  taken  up  and  carried  to  the  boat.  It  was 
done. 

When  they  got  down  the  bank  out  of  sight  of  the 
house  Myengeen  and  the  others  gave  over  their  hol- 
low pretense  of  enthusiasm  at  Ambrose's  release. 

Thereafter  none   paid   the   least   attention   to   him. 

He  saw  that  they  had  not  only  loaded  the  boat  they 
came  in,  but  on  the  principle  of  in  for  a  penny,  in  for 
a  pound,  had  also  taken  possession  of  one  of  the 
company  york  boats,  and  had  loaded  it  to  the  gun- 
wale. 

They  immediately  embarked  and  pushed  off.     Am- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  195 

brose  secured  a  place  below  Myengeen's  steering  plat- 
form. In  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  at  his  feet,  lay  the 
wizened  Indian  in  his  rags,  and  the  straight,  slim  body 
of  Tole — side  by  side  like  brothers  in  a  bed. 

Tole's  face  was  not  disfigured;  serene,  boyish,  and 
comel}r,  it  gave  Ambrose's  heart-strings  a  fresh  wrench. 
He  covered  them  both  with  a  piece  of  sail-cloth. 

Across  the  river,  as  the  Indians  started  to  unload, 
Watusk  came  down  to  the  beach,  followed  by  several 
of  his  councilors.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  from  his 
inscrutable,  self-important  air  what  he  thought  of  all 
this. 

His  flabby,  yellow  face  changed  neither  at  the  sight 
of  all  the  wealth  they  brought  nor  at  the  two  dead 
men.  Ambrose  demanded  four  men  of  him  to  carry 
Tole's  body  to  his  father's  house. 

Watusk  kept  him  waiting  while  he  listened  to  a  com- 
munication from  Myengeen.  Ambrose  guessed  that  it 
had  to  do  with  himself,  for  both  men  glanced  furtively 
at  him.  Watusk  finally  turned  away  without  having 
answered  the  white  man. 

Ambrose,  growing  red,  imperiously  repeated  his  de- 
mand. Watusk,  still  without  looking  at  him  directly, 
spoke  a  word  to  some  Indians  within  call,  and  Am- 
brose was  immediately  seized  by  a  dozen  hands. 

He  was  finally  bound  hand  and  foot  with  thongs 
of  hide.  This  was  no  more  than  he  expected,  still  he 
did  not  submit  without  a  fierce  but  ineffectual  strug- 
gle. 

When  it  was  done  his  captors  looked  on  him  with 
respect — they  did  not  laugh  at  him  nor  evince  any 
anger.  It  was  impossible  for  Kim  to  read  any  clue 
in  their  stolid  faces  what  was  going  forward. 

Half  a  dozen  of  them  carried  him  up  the  bank  and 
laid  him  at  the  door  of  a  teepee.  Presently  Watusk 
passed  by.  Ambrose  so  violently  demanded  an  ex- 


196  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

planation  that  the  Indian  was  forced  to  stop.  He 
said,  still  without  meeting  Ambrose's  eye: 

"Myengeen  say  you  kill  Tom  Moosa.  You  got  to 
take  our  law." 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  Ambrose,  suffocating  with  indig- 
nation. 

Watusk  shrugged  and  disappeared.  It  was  useless 
for  Ambrose  to  shout  at  any  of  the  others.  He 
fumed  in  silence.  The  Indians  gave  his  dangerous  eyes 
a  wide  berth. 

Meanwhile  the  camp  was  plunged  into  a  babel  of 
confusion  by  the  order  to  move. 

Boys  ran  here  and  there  catching  the  horses,  the 
teepees  came  down  on  the  run,  and  the  squaws  fran- 
tically to  pack  their  household  gear.  Infants  and  dogs 
infected  with  a  common  excitement  outvied  each  other 
in  screaming  and  barking. 

Ambrose  saw  only  the  beginning  of  the  preparations. 
A  horse  was  brought  to  where  he  lay,  and  the  six 
men  whom  he  was  beginning  to  recognize  as  his  parti- 
cular guard  unbound  his  ankles  and  lifted  him  into 
the  saddle. 

They  never  dared  lay  hands  on  him  except  in  con- 
cert— he  took  what  comfort  he  could  out  of  that  tribute 
to  his  prowess.  They  tied  his  bound  wrists  to  the 
saddle-horn,  and  also  tied  his  ankles  under  the  horse's 
belly,  leaving  just  play  enough  for  him  to  use  the 
stirrups. 

The  six  then  mounted  their  own  horses,  and  they 
set  off  at  a  swift  lope  away  from  the  river — one  lead- 
ing Ambrose's  horse. 

They  extended  themselves  in  single  file  along  a 
well-beaten  trail.  This,  Ambrose  knew,  was  the  way 
to  the  Kakisa  River — their  own  country. 

A  chill  struck  to  his  breast.  Any  intelligible  danger 
may  be  faced  with  a  good  heart,  but  to  be  cast  among 
capricious  and  inscrutable  savages,  whom  he  could 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  197 

neither  command  nor  comprehend,  was  enough  to 
undermine  the  stoutest  courage. 

Nevertheless  he  strove  with  himself  as  he  rode. 
"They  cannot  put  it  over  me  unless  I  knuckle  under," 
he  thought.  "They're  afraid  of  me.  No  Indian  that 
ever  lived  can  face  out  a  white  man  when  the  white 
man  knows  his  power." 

Several  dogs  followed  them  out  of  camp.  There 
was  one  that  the  others  all  snapped  at  and  drove 
from  among  them.  Ambrose  suddenly  recognized  Job, 
and  his  heart  leaped  up. 

He  had  left  him  at  Grampierre's  the  night  before. 
The  faithful  little  beast  must  have  followed  him  down 
to  the  Kakisa  camp  and  have  been  waiting  for  him 
ever  since  to  return. 

During  the  events  of  the  last  half-hour  Job  had  no 
doubt  been  regarding  his  master  from  afar.  The 
other  dogs  would  not  let  him  run  at  the  horses'  heels, 
but  he  followed  indomitably  in  the  rear. 

Every  time  they  went  over  a  hill  Ambrose  saw  him 
trotting  patiently  far  behind  in  the  trail.  When  they 
stopped  to  eat  there  was  a  joyful  reunion. 

Ambrose  no  longer  felt  friendless.  He  divided  his 
rations  with  his  humble  follower.  The  Indians  smiled. 
In  this  respect  they  evidently  considered  the  formid- 
able white  man  a  little  soft-headed. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A    GLEAM    OF    HOPE. 

IN  the  middle  of  the  third  day  of  hard  riding  over 
a  flower-starred  prairie,  and  through  belts  of  poplar 
bush,  they  came  to  the  Kakisa  River. 

By  this  time  Ambrose  had  become  somewhat  habitu- 
ated to  his  captivity.  At  any  rate,  he  was  more  philo- 
sophical. He  had  been  treated  well  enough. 

There  was  a  village  at  the  end  of  the  trail.  Hear- 
ing the  astonishing  news  of  what  had  happened,  the 
people  stared  at  Ambrose  with  their  hard,  bright  eyes 
as  at  a  phenomenon. 

Ambrose  figured  that  they  had  left  Fort  Enter- 
prise a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  behind.  He  looked 
at  the  river  with  interest.  He  had  heard  that  no 
white  man  had  ever  descended  it. 

He  saw  a  smoothly  flowing  brown  flood  some  two 
hundred  yards  wide  winding  away  between  verdant 
willows.  A  smaller  stream  joined  it  at  this  point, 
and  the  teepees  stretched  along  either  bank. 

Across  the  larger  stream  loomed  a  bold  hill-point 
with  a  striking  clump  of  pines  upon  it,  and  under 
the  trees  the  gables  of  an  Indian  burying-ground  like 
a  village  of  toy  houses. 

The  flat  where  the  rivers  joined  was  hemmed  all 
around  by  low  hills.  On  the  right,  half-way  up  the 
rise,  a  log  shack  dominated  the  village — and  to  it 
Ambrose's  captors  led  him. 

This  was  evidently  intended  to  be  his  prison.  Win- 
dow and  door  were  closely  boarded  up.  The  Indians 
tore  the  boards  from  the  doorway  and,  casting  off 
Ambrose's  bonds,  thrust  him  inside.  They  closed 

198 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  199 

the  door,  leaving  him  in  utter  darkness.  He  heard 
them  contriving  a  bar  to  keep  him  in. 

Ambrose,  after  waving  his  arms  about  to  restore  the 
circulation,  set  to  exploring  his  quarters  by  sense  of 
touch.  First  he  collided  with  a  counter  running  across 
from  side  to  side. 

Behind,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  found  an  iron 
cook-stove;  against  the  right  hand  wall  were  tiers  of 
empty  shelves ;  at  the  back  a  bedstead  filled  with  moldy 
hay;  on  the  left  side  an  empty  chest,  a  table,  and  a 
chair. 

Thus  it  was  a  combination  of  store  and  dwelling; 
no  doubt  it  had  been  built  for  Gordon  Strange's  use 
when  he  came  to  trade  with  the  Kakisas. 

The  window  was  over  the  table.  Ambrose  found  it 
nailed  down,  besides  being  boarded  up  outside.  He 
had  no  intention  of  submitting  to  the  deprivation 
of  light  and  air. 

He  picked  up  the  chair  and  swinging  it  delivered 
a  series  of  blows  that  shattered  the  glass,  cracked  the 
frame,  and  finally  drove  out  the  boards.  He  found 
himself  looking  into  the  impassive  faces  of  his  jailers. 

They  did  not  even  seem  surprised,  and  made  no 
demonstration  against  him.  Ambrose  whistled.  Job 
came  running  and  scrambled  over  the  window-sill  into 
his  master's  arms. 

Later  one  of  the  Indians  came  with  strips  of  moose 
hide  which  he  pinned  across  outside  the  window.  From 
each  strip  dangled  a  row  of  bells,  such  as  are  fastened 
to  dog-harness.  It  was  cunningly  contrived — Am- 
brose could  not  touch  one  of  the  strips  ever  so  gently 
without  giving  an  alarm. 

Thereafter,  as  long  as  it  was  light,  he  could  see 
them  loafing  and  sleeping  in  the  grass  outside  with 
their  guns  beside  them.  After  dark  their  pipe-bowls 
glowed. 

Three  days  of  inexpressible  tedium  followed.     Had 


200  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

it  not  been  for  Job,  Ambrose  felt  he  would  have  gone 
out  of  his  mind.  His  window  overlooked  the  teepee 
village,  and  his  sole  distraction  from  his  thoughts  lay 
in  watching  the  Indians  at  work  and  play. 

His  jailers  put  up  a  teepee  outside  the  shack.  There 
were  never  less  than  three  in  sight,  generally  playing 
poker — and  with  their  guns  beside  them. 

Ambrose  knowing  the  inconsequentiality  of  the  In- 
dian mind  guessed  that  they  must  have  had  strong  or- 
ders to  keep  them  on  guard  so  faithfully.  Any  thought 
of  escape  was  out  of  the  question.  He  could  not  travel 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  without  a  store  of  food. 

He  sought  to  keep  out  a  little  from  every  meal  that 
was  served  him,  but  he  got  barely  enough  for  him 
and  Job,  too. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  arrival  of  the  main  body  of 
Indians  from  Fort  Enterprise  created  a  diversion. 
They  came  straggling  slowly  on  foot  down  the  hill 
to  the  flat,  extreme  weariness  marked  in  their  heavy 
gait  and  their  sagging  backs. 

Only  Watusk  rode  a  horse.  Every  other  beast  was 
requisitioned  to  carry  the  loot  from  the  store.  Some 
of  the  men — and  all  the  women  bore  packs  also.  This 
was  why  they  had  been  so  long  on  the  way. 

True  to  their  savage  nature  they  had  taken  more 
than  they  could  carry.  As  Ambrose  learned  later, 
there  were  goods  scattered  wantonly  all  along  the  trail. 

Ambrose  naturally  anticipated  some  change  in  his 
own  condition  as  a  result  of  the  arrival  of  Watusk. 
But  nothing  happened  immediately.  The  patient 
squaws  set  to  work  to  make  camp,  and  by  nightfall  the 
village  of  teepees  was  increased  fourfold. 

In  the  motionless  twilight  each  cone  gave  a  perpen- 
dicular thread  of  smoke  to  the  thin  cloud  that  hung 
low  over  the  flat. 

As  the  darkness  increased  the  teepees  became  faintly 
luminous  from  the  fires  within,  and  the  streets  gleamed 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  201 

like  strings  of  pale  Japanese  lanterns.  Ambrose,  ex- 
pecting visitors,  watched  at  his  window  until  late. 
None  came. 

In  the  morning  he  made  the  man  who  brought  his 
breakfast  understand  by  signs  that  he  wished  to  speak 
with  Watusk.  The  chief  did  not,  however,  vouchsafe 
him  a  call. 

To-day  it  transpired  that  the  Indians  were  only 
making  a  temporary  halt  below.  After  a  few  hours' 
rest  they  got  in  motion  again,  and  all  afternoon  were 
engaged  in  ferrying  their  baggage  across  the  river  in 
dugouts  and  in  swimming  their  horses  over. 

On  the  following  morning,  with  the  exception  of 
Watusk's  lodge  and  half  a  dozen  others,  all  the  tee- 
pees were  struck,  and  the  whole  body  of  the  people 
crossed  the  river  and  disappeared  behind  the  hill. 
All  on  that  side  was  no  man's  land,  still  written  down 
"unexplored"  on  the  maps. 

Thereafter  day  succeeded  day  without  any  break 
in  the  monotony  of  Ambrose's  imprisonment.  He  oc- 
casionally made  out  the  portly  figure  of  Watusk  in 
his  frock  coat,  but  received  no  word  from  him. 

It  was  now  the  20th  of  September,  and  the  poplar 
boughs  were  bare.  Every  morning  now  the  grass 
was  covered  with  rime,  and  to-day  a  flurry  of  snow 
fell.  Winter  would  increase  the  difficulties  of  escape 
tenfold. 

Ambrose  speculated  endlessly  on  what  might  be  hap- 
pening at  Fort  Enterprise.  He  thought,  too,  of 
Peter  Minot  who  was  relying  on  him  to  steer  the 
hazarded  fortunes  of  the  firm  into  port — and  groaned 
at  his  impotence. 

As  with  all  solitary  prisoners,  throughout  the  long 
hours  Ambrose's  mind  preyed  upon  itself.  True, 
he  had  Job,  who  was  friend  and  consoler  in  his  dumb 
way,  but  Job  was  only  a  dog. 

To  joke  or  to  swear  at  his  jailers  was  like  trying 


202  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

to  make  a  noise  in  a  vacuum.  Not  to  be  able  to  make 
himself  felt  became  a  positive  torture  to  Ambrose. 

On  the  night  of  this  day,  lying  in  bed,  he  found 
himself  wide  awake  without  being  able  to  say  what 
had  awakened  him.  He  lay  listening,  and  presently 
heard  the  sound  again — the  fall  of  a  little  object  on  the 
floor. 

The  chinks  of  the  log  walls  were  stopped  with  mud 
which  had  dried  and  loosened;  nothing  strange  that 
bits  of  it  should  fall — still  his  heart  beat  fast. 

He  heard  a  cautious  scratching  and  another  piece 
dropped  and  broke  on  the  floor.  Now  he  knew  a  liv- 
ing agency  was  at  work.  Job  growled.  Ambrose 
clutched  his  muzzle. 

Suddenly  a  whisper  stole  through  the  dark — in  his 
amazement  Ambrose  could  not  have  told  from  what 
quarter.  "Angleysman !  Angleysman !" 

Awe  of  the  supernatural  shook  Ambrose's  breast. 
He  had  come  straight  from  deep  slumber.  A  fine 
perspiration  broke  out  upon  him.  It  was  a  woman's 
whisper,  with  a  tender  lift  and  fall  in  the  sound. 

Job  struggled  to  release  his  head.  Ambrose  stern- 
ly bade  him  be  quiet.  The  dog  desisted,  but  crouched 
trembling. 

The  whisper  was  repeated :  "Angleysman  !" 

A  man  must  answer  his  summons.  "What  do  you 
want?"  asked  Ambrose  softly. 

"Come  here." 

"Where  are  you?" 

"Here — at  the  corner.  Come  to  the  foot  of  your 
bed." 

Ambrose  obeyed.  Reaching  the  spot  he  said :  "Speak 
again." 

"Here,"  the  voice  whispered.  "I  mak'  a  hole  in 
the  mud.  Put  your  ear  down  and  I  spik  sof." 

Ambrose  identified  the  spot  whence  the  sound  issued. 
He  put  his  lips  to  it.  "Who  are  you?"  he  whispered. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  £03 

"Nesis,"  came  the  softly  breathed  answer.  "I  your 
friend." 

Friend  was  always  a  word  to  warm  Ambrose's  breast, 
and  surely  at  this  moment  of  all  his  life  he  needed  a 
friend.  "Thank  you,"  he  said  from  a  full  heart. 

"I  see  you  at  the  tea-dance,"  the  voice  went  on. 

Ambrose  had  an  intuition.  "Were  you  the 
girl—" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  sit  be'ind  you.  I  think  you 
pretty  man.  When  we  run  out  I  squeeze  your  hand." 

Ambrose  grinned  into  the  darkness.  "I  thought 
you  were  pretty,  too,"  he  returned. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  in  there,"  she  whispered. 

He  was  a  little  nonplused  by  her  naive  warmth. 

"The  men  say  you  strong  as  one  bear,"  she  went 
on.  "They  say  you  got  gold  in  your  teeth.  Is  that 
true?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ambrose  laughing. 

"I  lak'  to  see  that." 

In  spite  of  the  best  intent  on  both  sides  conver- 
sation languished.  It  is  difficult  to  make  acquaintance 
through  a  wall  of  logs.  Finally  Ambrose  asked  how  it 
was  she  could  speak  English,  and  that  unlocked  her 
simple  story. 

"My  fat'er  teach  me,"  she  said.  "He  is  half  a 
white  man.  He  come  here  long  tarn  ago  and  marry 
Kakisa.  He  spik  ver'  good  Angleys.  When  Watusk 
is  make  head  man  he  mad  at  my  fat'er  because  my 
fat'er  spik  Angleys. 

"Watusk  not  want  nobody  spik  Angleys  but  him 
around.  Watusk  fix  it  to  mak'  them  kill  my  fat'er. 
It  is  the  truth.  Watusk  not  know  I  spik  Angleys,  too. 
My  fat'er  teach  me  quiet.  If  Watusk  know  that  he 
cut  out  my  tongue,  I  think.  I  lak  spik  Angleys — me. 
I  spik  by  myself  so  not  forget.  I  come  spik  Angleys 
with  you." 


204  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Your  father  is  dead?"  said  Ambrose.  "Who  do 
you  live  with?'* 

"Watusk,"  came  the  surprising  answer.  "I  Wa- 
tusk's  youngest  wife.  Got  four  wives." 

"Good  Lord!"  murmured  Ambrose. 

"When  my  fat'er  is  kill,  Watusk  tak'  me,"  she 
went  on.  "I  hate  him !" 

"What  a  shame!"  cried  Ambrose,  remembering  the 
wistful  face. 

"I  wish  I  in  there !"  she  whispered  again. 

"Will  you  help  me  to  get  out?"  Ambrose  asked 
eagerly.  "I  can  make  it  if  you  can  slip  me  some 
food." 

"I  not  want  you  go  'way,"  she  said  slowly. 

"I  can't  live  locked  up  like  this !"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  I  help  you,"  she  whispered. 

"Could  you  get  me  a  horse,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "But  many  men  is  watch  the  trail 
for  police.  Tak'  a  canoe  and  go  down  the  river." 

"Where  does  this  river  go?" 

"They  say  to  the  Big  Buffalo  lake." 

"Good!  I  can  get  back  to  Moultrie  from  there. 
Can  you  bring  me  a  strong  knife?" 

"I  bring  him  to-morrow  night,  Angleysman." 

"I  will  cut  a  hole  in  the  floor  and  dig  out  under 
the  wall." 

Nesis  was  not  anxious  to  talk  over  the  details  of 
his  escape.  "Have  you  got  a  wife?"  she  asked.  "Why 
not?"  There  was  no  end  to  her  questions. 

Finally  she  said  with  a  sigh :  "I  got  go  now.  I  put 
my  hand  inside.  You  can  touch  it." 

Ambrose  felt  for  the  little  fingers  that  crept  through 
the  slit,  and  gratefully  pressed  his  lips  to  them. 

"Ah !"  she  breathed  wonderingly.  "Wa&  that  your 
mouth?  It  mak'  me  jomp!  Put  your  hand  outside, 
Angleysman." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  205 

He  did  so,  and  felt  his  fingers  brushed  as  with  rose- 
petals. 

"Goo'-by!"  she  breathed. 

"Nesis,"  he  asked,  "do  you  know  why  Watusk  is 
keeping  me  locked  up  here?  What  does  he  think  he's 
going  to  do  with  me?" 

"Sure  I  know,"  she  said.  "Ev'rybody  know.  If  the 
police  catch  him  he  say  he  not  mak'  all  this  trouble. 
He  say  you  mak'  him  do  it  all.  Gordon  Strange  tell 
him  say  that." 

A  great  light  broke  on  Ambrose.  "Of  course!" 
he  said. 

"Goo'-by,  Angleysman!"  breathed  Nesis.  "I  come 
to-morrow  night." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

NESIS. 

AFTER  this,  Ambrose's  dreary  imprisonment  took  on 
a  new  color.  True,  the  hours  next  day  threatened  to 
drag  more  slowly  than  ever,  but  with  the  hope  that  it 
might  be  the  last  day  he  could  bear  it  philosophically. 

Hour  after  hour  he  paced  his  floor  on  springs.  "To- 
morrow the  free  sky  over  my  head!"  he  told  himself. 
"I'll  be  doing  something  again!" 

He  watched  the  teepees  with  an  added  interest,  won- 
dering if  any  of  the  women's  figures  he  saw  might 
be  hers.  The  most  he  could  distinguish  at  the  dis- 
tance was  the  difference  between  fat  and  slender. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning  he  saw  Watusk  ride 
forth,  accompanied  by  four  men  that  he  guessed  were 
the  councilors.  Watusk  now  had  a  military  aspect. 

On  his  head  he  wore  a  pith  helmet,  and  across  the 
frock  coat  a  broad  red  sash  like  a  field  marshal's.  He 
and  his  henchmen  climbed  the  trail  leading  back  to 
Enterprise. 

Later,  Ambrose  saw  a  party  of  women  leave  camp, 
carrying  birch-bark  receptacles  that  looked  like  school- 
book  satchels.  They  commenced  to  pick  berries  on  the 
hillside.  Ambrose  wondered  if  his  little  friend  were 
among  them. 

They  gradually  circled  the  hill  and  approached  his 
shack.  As  they  drew  near  he  finally  recognized  Nesis 
in  one  who  occasionally  straightened  her  back  and 
glanced  toward  his  window.  She  was  slenderer  than 
the  others. 

The  shack  stood  on  a  little  terrace  of  clean  grass. 
Above  it  and  below  stretched  the  rough  hillside,  cov- 

206 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  207 

ered  with  scrubby  bushes  and  weeds.  It  was  in  this 
rough  ground  that  the  women  were  gathering  wild 
cranberries. 

Coming  to  the  edge  of  the  grass,  they  paused  with 
full  satchels,  talking  idly,  nibbling  the  fruit  and  cast- 
ing inquisitive  glances  toward  Ambrose's  prison. 

There  were  eight  of  them,  and  Nesis  stood  out  from 
the  lot  like  a  star.  The  four  men  playing  poker  in 
the  grass  at  one  side  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

Nesis  with  a  sly  smile  whispered  in  her  neighbor's 
ear.  The  other  girl  grinned  and  nodded,  the  word 
was  passed  around,  and  they  all  came  forward  a  little 
way  in  the  grass  with  a  timid  air. 

Their  inquisitive  eyes  sought  to  pierce  the  obscurity 
of  the  shack.  Ambrose,  not  yet  knowing  what  was 
expected  of  him,  kept  in  the  background. 

The  fat  girl,  prompted  and  nudged  by  Nesis,  sud- 
denly squalled  something  in  Kakisa,  which  convulsed 
them  all.  Ambrose  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  it 
as  a  derisive,  flirtatious  challenge. 

Not  to  be  outdone,  he  came  to  the  window  and  an- 
swered in  kind.  They  could  not  contain  their  laughter 
at  the  sound  of  the  comical  English  syllables. 

Badinage  flew  fast  after  that.  Ambrose  observed 
that  Nesis  herself  never  addressed  him,  but  circulated 
slyly  from  one  to  another,  making  a  cup  of  her  hand 
at  each  ear. 

Becoming  emboldened,  they  gradually  drew  closer  to 
the  window.  They  made  outrageous  faces.  Still  the 
poker-players  affected  not  to  be  aware  of  them.  As 
men  and  hunters  they  disdained  to  notice  such  fool- 
ishness. 

Suddenly  Nesis,  as  if  to  prove  her  superior  boldness, 
darted  forward  to  the  very  window.  Ambrose,  startled 
by  the  unexpected  move,  fell  back  a  step.  Nesis  put 
her  hands  on  the  sill  and  shrieked  an  unintelligible  jibe 
into  the  room. 


208  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  other  girls  hugged  themselves  with  horrified  de- 
light. This  was  too  much  for  the  j  ailers.  They  sprang 
up  and  with  threatening  voice  and  gestures  drove  the 
girls  away.  They  scampered  down-hill,  shrieking  with 
affected  terror. 

When  Nesis  placed  her  hands  on  the  sill  a  thin 
package  slipped  out  of  her  sleeve  and  thudded  upon 
the  floor.  Ambrose's  heart  jumped. 

As  the  girls  ran  away,  under  cover  of  leaning  out 
and  calling  after  them,  he  pushed  her  gift  under 
the  table  with  his  foot.  One  of  the  jailers,  coming 
to  the  window  and  glancing  about  the  room,  found  him 
unconcernedly  lighting  his  pipe. 

When  the  poker  game  was  resumed  Ambrose  retired 
with  his  prize  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  shack.  It 
proved  to  be  the  knife  he  had  asked  for,  a  keen,  strong 
blade. 

She  had  wrapped  it  in  a  piece  of  moose  hide  to  keep 
it  from  clattering  on  the  floor.  Ambrose's  heart 
warmed  toward  her  anew.  "She's  as  plucky  and 
clever  as  she  is  friendly,"  he  thought.  He  stuffed 
the  knife  in  his  bed  and  resigned  himself  as  best  he 
could  to  wait  for  darkness. 

Fortunately  for  his  store  of  patience,  the  days  were 
rapidly  growing  shorter.  His  supper  was  brought 
him  at  six,  and  when  he  had  finished  eating  it  was  dark 
enough  to  begin  work. 

Outside  the  moon's  first  quarter  was  filling  the  bowl 
of  the  hills  with  a  delicate  radiance,  but  moonlight 
outside  only  made  the  interior  of  the  shack  darker  to 
one  looking  in. 

Ambrose  squatted  in  the  corner  at  the  foot  of  his 
bed,  and  set  to  work  as  quietly  as  a  mouse  in  the 
pantry. 

He  had  finished  his  hole  in  the  flooring  and  was 
commencing  to  dig  in  the  earth,  when  a  soft  scratching 
on  the  wall  gave  notice  of  Nesis's  presence  outside. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  209 

"Angleysman,  you  there?"  she  whispered  through 
the  chink. 

"Here!"  said  Ambrose. 

"The  boat  is  ready,"  she  said.  "I  got  grub  and 
blanket  and  gun." 

"Ah,  fine!"  whispered  Ambrose. 

"You  almost  out?"  she  asked. 

He  explained  his  situation. 

"I  dig  this  side,  too,"  she  said.  "We  dig  together. 
Mak*  no  noise!" 

Since  the  shack  was  innocent  of  foundation  it  was 
no  great  matter  to  dig  under  the  wall.  With  knife  and 
hands  Ambrose  worked  on  his  side  until  he  had  got 
deep  enough  to  dig  under. 

Occasional  little  sounds  assured  him  that  Nesis  was 
not  idle.  Suddenly  the  thin  barrier  of  earth  between 
them  caved  in,  and  they  clasped  hands  in  the  hole. 

Five  minutes  more  of  scooping  out  and  the  way  was 
clear.  Ambrose  extended  his  long  body  on  the  floor 
and  wriggled  himself  slowly  under  the  log. 

Outside  an  urgent  hand  on  his  shoulder  restrained 
him.  Throwing  herself  on  the  ground,  she  put  her  lips 
to  his  ear.  "Go  back !"  she  whispered.  "The  moon  is 
moch  bright.  You  must  wait  little  while." 

Ambrose,  mad  to  taste  the  free  air  of  heaven,  re- 
sisted a  little  sullenly. 

"Please  go  back!"  she  whispered  imploringly.  "I 
come  in.  I  got  talk  with  you." 

He  drew  himself  back  into  the  shack  with  none  too 
good  a  grace.  Standing  over  the  hole  when  she  ap- 
peared, he  put  his  hands  under  her  arms  and,  drawing 
her  through,  stood  her  upon  her  feet. 

He  could  have  tossed  the  little  thing  in  the  air  with 
scarcely  an  effort.  She  turned  about  and  came  close 
to  him. 

"I  so  glad  to  be  by  you!"  she  breathed. 

She  emanated  a  delicate  natural  fragrance  like  pine- 


210  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

trees  or  wild  roses — but  Ambrose  could  only  think  of 
freedom. 

"You  managed  to  get  here  without  being  seen,"  he 
grumbled. 

"You  foolish!"  she  whispered  tenderly.  "I  little.  I 
can  hide  behind  leaves  sof'  as  a  link.  Your  white  face 
him  show  by  the  moon  lak  a  little  moon.  Are  you 
sorry  you  got  stay  with  me  little  while?'* 

"No !"  he  said.    "But— I'm  sick  to  be  out  of  this !" 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  drew  him 
down.  "Sit  on  the  floor,'*  she  whispered.  "Your  ear 
too  moch  high  for  my  mouth." 

They  sat,  leaning  against  the  footboard  of  the  bed. 
Like  a  confiding  child  she  snuggled  her  shoulder  under 
his  arm  and  drew  the  arm  around  her.  What  was  he 
to  do  but  hold  her  close? 

"It  is  true,  you  ver'  moch  strong,"  she  murmured. 
"Lak  a  bear.  But  a  bear  is  ogly." 

"You  didn't  think  I  was  pretty  to-day,  did  you," 
he  said  with  a  grin,  "with  a  week's  growth  on  my 
chin?" 

She  softly  stroked  his  cheek.  "Wah !"  she  said, 
laughing.  "Lak  porcupine !  Red  man  not  have  strong 
beard  lak  that.  They  say  you  scrape  it  off  with  a 
knife  every  day." 

"When  I  have  the  knife,'*  said  Ambrose. 

"Why  you  do  that?"  she  asked.  "I  lak  see  it  grow 
down  long  lak  my  hair.  That  would  be  wonderful!" 

Ambrose  trembled  with  internal  laughter. 

"I  lak  everything  of  you,"  she  murmured. 

He  was  much  troubled  between  his  gratitude  and  his 
inability  to  reciprocate  the  nai've  passion  she  had  con- 
ceived for  him.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  loved  and  flattered 
and  exalted,  but  it  entails  obligations. 

"I  never  can  thank  you  properly  for  what  you've 
done,*'  he  said  clumsily. 

"I  do  anything  for  you,"  she  said  quickly.  "So 
soon  my  eyes  see  you  to  the  dance  I  know  that.  Al- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  211 

ways  before  that  I  am  think  about  white  men.  I  not 
see  no  white  men  before,  only  the  little  parson,  and 
the  old  men  at  the  fort.  They  not  lak  you  ?  My  fat'er 
is  the  same  as  me.  He  lak  white  men.  We  talk  moch 
about  white  men.  My  fat'er  say  to  me  never  forget  the 
Angleys  talk.  Do  I  spik  Angleys  good,  Angleys- 
man?" 

"Fine!"  whispered  Ambrose. 

She  pulled  his  head  forward  so  that  she  could  breathe 
her  soft  speech  directly  in  his  ear. 

"My  fat'er  and  me  not  the  same  lak  other  people 
here.  We  got  white  blood.  Men  not  talk  with  their 
girls  moch.  My  fat'er  talk  man  talk  with  me.  Be- 
cause he  is  got  no  boys,  only  me.  So  I  know  many 
things. 

"I  think  women's  talk  foolish.  Many  tarn  my  fat'er 
say  to  me,  Angleys  talk  mak'  men  strong.  He  say  to 
me,  some  day  Watusk  kill  me  for  cause  I  spik  the 
Angleys. 

"So  in  the  tarn  of  falling  leaves  lak  this,  three  years 
ago,  my  fat'er  he  is  go  down  the  river  to  the  big  falls 
to  meet  the  people  from  Big  Buffalo  Lake. 

"My  fat'er  and  ten  men  go.  Bamby  them  come  back. 
My  fat'er  not  in  any  dugout.  Them  say  my  fat'er  is 
hunt  with  Ahcunza  one  day.  My  fat'er  is  fall  in  the 
river  and  go  down  the  big  falls. 

"They  say  that.  But  I  know  the  truth.  Ahcunza 
is  a  friend  of  Watusk.  Watusk  give  him  his  vest 
with  goldwork  after.  My  fat'er  is  dead.  I  am  lak 
wood  then.  My  mot'er  sell  me  to  Watusk.  I  not 
care  for  not'ing." 

"Your  mother,  sell  you!"  murmured  Ambrose. 

"My  mot'er  not  lak  me  ver'  moch,"  said  Nesis  sim- 
ply. "She  mad  for  cause  I  got  white  blood.  She  mad 
for  cause  my  fat'er  all  tarn  talk  with  me." 

"Three  years  ago !"  said  Ambrose.  "You  must  have 
been  a  little  girl  then!" 

"I  fourteen  year  old  then.     My  mot'er  got  'not'er 


212  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

osban'  now.  Common  man.  They  gone  with  Buffalo 
Lake  people.  I  not  care.  All  tarn  I  think  of  my 
fat'er.  He  is  one  fine  man. 

"Las'  summer  the  priest  come  here.  Mak'  good 
talk,  him.  Say  if  we  good,  bam-by  we  see  the  dead 
again.  What  you  think,  is  that  true  talk,  Angleys- 
man?" 

Ambrose's  arm  tightened  around  the  wistful  child. 
"Honest  truth !"  he  whispered. 

She  opened  her  simple  heart  fully  to  him.  Her  soft 
speech  tumbled  out  as  if  it  had  been  dammed  all  these 
years,  and  only  now  released  by  a  touch  of  kind- 
ness. 

Ambrose  was  touched  as  deeply  as  a  young  man  may 
be  by  a  woman  he  does  not  love,  yet  he  could  not  help 
glancing  over  her  head  at  the  square  of  sky  obliquely 
revealed  through  the  window.  It  gradually  dark- 
ened. 

"The  moon  has  gone  down,"  he  said  at  last. 

Nesis  clung  to  him.  "Ah,  you  so  glad  to  leave  me!" 
she  whimpered. 

He  gently  released  himself.  "Think  of  me  a  little," 
he  said.  "I  must  get  a  long  start  before  daylight." 

She  buried  her  face  on  her  knees.  Her  shoulders 
shook. 

"Nesis !"  he  whispered  appealingly. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  flung  a  hand  across  her  eyes. 
"No  good  cry,"  she  murmured.  "Come  on !" 

Nesis  led  the  way  out  through  the  hole  they  had 
dug.  Job  followed  Ambrose.  Outside,  for  greater 
safety,  he  took  the  dog  in  his  arms. 

The  moon  had  sunk  behind  the  hill  across  the  river, 
but  it  was  still  dangerously  bright.  Nesis  took  hold 
of  Ambrose's  sleeve  and  pointed  off  to  the  right.  She 
whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Ev'ry  tarn  feel  what  is  under  your  foot  before  step 
hard." 

She  did  not  make  directly  for  the  river,  but  led 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

him  step  by  step  up  the  hill  toward  a  growth  of  timber 
that  promised  safety.  The  first  hundred  yards  was 
the  most  difficult. 

They  rose  above  the  shack  into  the  line  of  vision  of 
the  guards  in  front,  had  they  elevated  their  eyes. 
Nesis,  crouching,  moved  like  a  cat  after  a  bird. 

Ambrose  followed,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe.  Even 
the  dog  understood  and  lay  as  if  dead  in  Ambrose's 
arms. 

The  danger  decreased  with  every  step.  When  they 
gained  the  trees  they  could  fairly  count  themselves 
safe.  Even  if  an  alarm  were  raised  now  it  would  take 
time  to  find  them  in  the  dark. 

Nesis,  still  leading  Ambrose,  pattered  ahead  as  if 
every  twig  in  the  bush  was  familiar  to  her.  She  did  not 
strike  down  to  the  river  until  they  had  gone  a  good 
way  around  the  side  of  the  hill. 

This  brought  them  to  the  water's  edge  at  a  point 
a  third  of  a  mile  or  more  below  the  teepees.  Ambrose 
distinguished  a  bark  canoe  drawn  up  beneath  the  wil- 
lows. In  it  lay  the  outfit  she  had  provided. 

He  put  it  in  the  water,  and  Job  hopped  into  his 
accustomed  place  in  the  bow. 

"You  love  that  dog  ver'  moch,"  Nesis  murmured 
jealously. 

"He's  ah1  I've  got,"  said  Ambrose. 

Her  hand  swiftly  sought  his. 

"Tell  me  how  I  should  go,"  said  Ambrose  hastily, 
fearing  a  demonstration. 

Nesis  drew  a  long  sigh.  "I  tell  you,"  she  said  sadly. 
"They  say  it  is  four  sleeps  to  the  big  falls.  Two  sleeps 
by  quiet  water.  Many  bad  rapids  after  that.  You 
mus'  land  by  every  rapid  to  look.  They  say  the  falls 
mak'  no  noise  before  they  catch  you.  Ah !  tak'  care !" 

"I  know  rivers,"  said  Ambrose. 

"They  say  under  the  water  is  a  cave  with  white 
bones  pile  up!"  she  faltered.  "They  say  my  fat'er 
is  there.  I  'fraid  for  you  to  go !" 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"111  be  careful,"  he  said  lightly.  "Don't  yotf 
worry !" 

"At  the  falls,"  she  went  on  sadly,  "you  mus'  land  on 
the  side  away  from  the  sun,  and  carry  your  canoe 
on  your  back.  There  is  pretty  good  trail.  Three 
miles.  After  that  one  more  sleep  to  the  big  lake.  A 
Company  fort  is  there." 

Like  an  honest  man  he  dreaded  the  mere  formulas 
of  thanks  at  such  a  moment,  but  neither  could  an 
honest  man  forego  them.  "How  can  I  ever  repay 
you !"  he  mumbled. 

She  clapped  a  warm  hand  over  his  mouth. 

As  he  was  about  to  step  in  the  canoe  Ambrose  saw 
a  bundle  lying  on  the  ground  to  one  side  that  he  had 
not  remarked  before.  "What  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"Not'ing  for  you,"  she  said  quickly. 

The  evasive  note  made  him  insist  upon  knowing. 

For  a  long  time  she  would  not  tell,  thus  increasing 
his  determination  to  find  out.  Finally  she  said  very 
low:  "I  jus' foolish.  I  think  maybe — maybe  you  want 
tak'  me  too !" 

Ambrose's  heart  was  wrung.  His  arm  went  around 
her  with  a  right  good  will.  "You  poor  baby!"  he 
murmured.  "I  can't!" 

She  struggled  to  release  herself.  "All  right,"  she 
said  stiffly.  "I  not  think  you  tak*  me.  Only  maybe." 

"By  God!"  swore  Ambrose.  "If  I  live  through  my 
troubles  I'll  find  a  way  of  getting  you  out  of  yours !" 

"Ah,  come  back !"  she  murmured,  clinging  to  his 
arm. 

"Good-by,"  he  said. 

"Wait !"  she  said,  clinging  to  him.  She  lifted  her 
face.  "Kiss  me  once,  lak'  white  people  kiss !" 

He  kissed  her  fairly. 

"Goo'-by,"  she  whispered.  "I  always  be  think  of 
you.  Goo'-by,  Angleysman!" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FKEE! 

AMBROSE  put  off  with  a  heart  big  with  compassion 
for  the  piteous  little  figure  he  was  leaving  behind  him. 
His  impotence  to  aid  her  poisoned  the  joy  of  his  es- 
cape. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  return  the  feeling  she  had  for  him — even  though 
Colina  were  lost  to  him  forever.  Her  unlucky  pas- 
sion almost  forbade  him  to  be  the  one  to  aid  her. 

Yet  he  had  profited  by  that  passion  to  make  his  es- 
cape. He  must  find  some  way. 

As  he  drove  his  paddle  into  the  breast  of  the  dark 
river,  and  put  one  point  of  willows  after  another 
between  him  and  danger,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
his  spirits  rose  steadily. 

Never  had  his  nostrils  tasted  anything  sweeter  than, 
the  smell  of  warm  river  water  on  the  chill  air,  nor  his 
eyes  beheld  a  friendlier  sight  than  the  cheery  stars. 
The  one  who  fares  forth  does  not  repine. 

After  all  he  had  only  known  Nesis  for  two  days; 
she  was  fine  and  plucky — but  he  could  not  love  her, 
and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  He  had  matters 
nearer  his  heart  than  the  sad  fate  of  an  Indian  maiden. 

Master  of  his  actions  once  more  it  was  time  for 
him  to  consider  what  to  do  to  get  out  of  the  coil  he 
was  in.  Nesis  passed  into  the  back  of  his  mind. 

No  desire  for  sleep  hampered  him.  He  had  had 
enough  of  sleeping  the  past  two  weeks.  His  arms  had 
ached  for  this  exercise.  There  was  a  fair  current,  and 
the  willows  moved  by  at  a  respectable  rate. 

He  estimated  that  he  could  put  forty  miles  be- 
215 


216  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

tween  him  and  the  Kakisa  village  by  morning.  The 
pleasant  taste  of  freedom  was  heightened  by  the  spice 
of  heading  into  the  unknown,  and  by  night. 

Night  returns  a  rare  sympathy  to  those  who  culti- 
vate her.  Ambrose,  so  far  as  he  knew,  was  the  first 
white  man  ever  to  travel  this  way.  This  river  had 
no  voice.  The  night  was  so  still  one  could  almost 
fancy  one  heard  the  stars. 

Sometimes  the  looming  shapes  of  islands  confused 
him  as  to  his  course,  but  if  he  held  his  paddle  the  canoe 
would  of  itself  choose  the  main  current. 

He  had  no  apprehension  as  to  what  each  bend  in 
the  stream  would  reveal,  for  with  the  experienced 
riverman's  intuition  he  looked  for  a  change  in  the 
character  of  the  shores  to  warn  him  of  any  interrup- 
tion of  the  current's  smooth  flow. 

"Like  old  times,  old  fel'!"  he  said  to  his  dumb 
partner. 

Job's  tail  thumped  on  the  gunwale.  Ambrose  con- 
tended that  at  night  Job  purposely  turned  stern  for- 
most  to  the  most  convenient  hard  object  that  his  sig- 
nals might  be  audible. 

"To-night  is  ours  anyway,  old  fel,"  said  Ambrose. 
"Let's  enjoy  it  while  we  can.  The  worst  is  yet  to 
come !" 

It  was  many  a  day  since  Job  had  heard  this  jocular 
note  in  his  master's  voice.  He  wriggled  a  little  and 
whined  in  his  eagerness  to  reach  him.  Job  knew  bet- 
ter than  to  attempt  to  move  much  in  the  bark  ca- 
noe. 

In  due  course  the  miracle  of  dawn  was  enacted  on  the 
river.  The  world  stole  out  of  the  dark  like  a  woman 
wan  with  watching.  First  the  line  of  tree-tops  on 
either  bank  became  blackly  silhouetted  against  the 
graying  sky,  then  little  by  little  the  masses  of  trees 
and  bushes  resolved  into  individuals. 

Perspective  came  into  being,  afterward  atmosphere, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  217 

and  finally  color.  The  scene  was  as  cool  and  delicate 
as  that  presented  to  a  diver  on  the  floor  of  the  sea. 
As  the  light  increased  it  was  as  if  he  mounted  into 
shallower  water  toward  the  sun. 

The  first  distinctive  note  of  color  was  the  astonishing 
green  of  the  goosegrass  springing  in  the  mud  left  by 
the  falling  water ;  then  the  current  itself  became  a  rich 
brown  with  creamy  flakes  of  foam  sailing  down  like  lit- 
tle vessels.  While  Ambrose  looked,  the  world  blos- 
somed from  a  pale  nun  into  a  ruddy  matron. 

With  the  rising  of  the  sun  the  need  of  sleep  began 
to  afflict  him.  He  had  thought  he  never  would  need 
sleep  again.  His  paddle  became  leaden  in  his  hands, 
and  Olympian  yawns  prostrated  him. 

He  did  not  wish  to  take  the  time  to  sleep  as  yet,  but 
he  resolved  to  stimulate  his  flagging  energies  with 
uread  and  hot  tea. 

Landing  on  a  point  of  stones,  he  built  a  fire,  and 
imng  his  little  copper  pot  over  it.  The  sight  of  every- 
thing he  had  been  provided  with  brought  the  thought 
of  Nesis  sharply  home  again,  and  sobered  him. 

Here  was  everything  a  traveler  might  require,  even 
including  two  extra  pairs  of  moccasins,  worked,  he  was 
sure,  by  herself.  "How  can  I  ever  repay  her?"  he 
thought  uncomfortably. 

Job  was  gyrating  madly  up  and  down  the  beach  to 
express  his  joy  at  their  deliverance.  Ambrose  was 
aroused  from  a  drowsy  contemplation  of  the  fire  by 
an  urgent  bark  from  the  dog. 

Looking  up,  he  was  frozen  with  astonishment  to  be- 
hold another  bark  canoe  sweeping  around  the  bend 
above.  When  motion  returned  to  him,  his  hand  in- 
stinctively shot  out  toward  the  gun.  But  there  was 
only  one  figure.  It  was  a  woman — it  was  Nesis! 

Ambrose  dropped  the  gun  and,  jumping  up,  swore 
helplessly  under  his  breath.  He  stared  at  the  on- 
coming boat,  fascinated  with  perplexity. 


218  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

During  the  few  seconds  between  his  first  sight  of 
it  and  its  grounding  at  his  feet,  the  complications 
bound  to  follow  on  her  coming  presented  themselves 
with  a  horrible  clearness.  His  face  turned  grim. 

Nesis,  landing,  could  not  face  his  look.  She  flung 
up  an  arm  over  her  eyes.  "Ah,  don't  look  so  mad 
to  me!"  she  faltered. 

"God  help  us!"  muttered  Ambrose.  "What  will  we 
do  now?" 

She  sank  down  in  a  heap  at  his  feet.  "Don't,  don't 
hate  me  or  I  die!"  she  wailed. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  remain  angry  with  the 
forlorn  little  creature.  He  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der. 

"Get  up,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.  "I'm  not  blaming 
you.  The  question  is — what  are  we  going  to  do?" 

She  lifted  her  head.  "I  go  with  you,"  she  whis- 
pered breathlessly.  "I  help  you  in  the  rapids.  I  bake 
bread  for  you.  I  watch  at  night." 

He  shook  his  head.  "You've  got  to  go  back,"  he 
said  sternly. 

"No  !  No !"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands.  "I  can* 
go  back  no  more !  Las'  night  when  you  go  I  fall  down. 
I  think  I  goin'  die.  I  sorry  I  not  die.  I  want  jump 
in  river;  but  the  priest  say  that  is  a  bad  thing. 

"I  can'  go  back  to  Watusk's  teepee  no  more.  If 
he  touch  me  I  got  kill  him !  That  is  bad,  too !  I  don't 
know  what  to  do!  I  want  be  good  so  I  see  my  fat'er 
bam-by !" 

Ambrose  groaned. 

She  thought  he  was  relenting,  and  came  and  wound 
her  arms  about  him.  "Tak'  me  wit'  you,"  she  pleaded 
like  a  little  child.  "I  be  good,  Angleysman !" 

Ambrose  firmly  detached  the  imploring  arms.  "You 
mustn't  do  that,"  he  said  as  to  a  child.  "We've  got 
to  think  hard  what  to  do." 

"Ah,  you  hate  me !"  she  wailed. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  219 

"That's  nonsense!"  he  said  sharply.  "I  am  jour 
friend.  I  will  never  forget  what  you  did  for  me!" 

He  took  an  abrupt  turn  up  and  down  the  stones, 
trying  to  think  what  to  do.  "Look  here,"  he  said 
finally.  "I've  got  to  hurt  you.  I  should  have  told 
you  before,  but  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  hurt  you. 
I  can't  love  you  the  way  you  want.  I'm  in  love  with 
another  woman." 

She  flung  away  from  him,  shoulder  up  as  if  he  had 
raised  a  whip.  Her  face  turned  ugly. 

"You  love  white  woman !"  she  hissed  with  extraordi- 
nary passion.  "Colina  Gaviller!  I  know!  I  hate 
her!  She  proud  and  wicked  woman.  She  hate  my 
people!"  Nesis's  eyes  flamed  up  with  a  kind  of  bitter 
triumph.  Her  voice  rose  shrilly. 

"She  hate  you,  too !  Always  she  is  bad  to  you.  I 
know  that,  too.  What  you  want  wit'  Colina  Gaviller? 
Are  you  a  dog  to  lie  down  when  she  beat  you?" 

Ambrose's  eyes  gleamed  ominously.  "Stop  it !"  he 
cried.  "You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

His  look  intimidated  her.  The  fury  of  jealousy  sub- 
sided to  a  sullen  muttering.  "I  hate  her !  She  bad  to 
the  people.  She  want  starve  the  people.  She  think 
her  yellow  horse  better  than  an  Indian!" 

Ambrose,  seeing  her  lip  begin  to  tremble  and  her 
eyes  fill,  relented.  "Stop  it,"  he  said  mildly.  "No  use 
for  us  to  quarrel." 

She  suddenly  broke  into  a  storm  of  weeping  and 
cast  herself  down,  hiding  her  face  in  her  arms.  Am- 
brose could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  let  her 
weep  herself  out.  He  sat  down  on  a  boulder. 

She  came  creeping  to  him  at  last,  utterly  humbled. 
"Angleysman,  tak'  me  wit'  you,"  she  murmured,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  before  him.  Her  breath  was  still  caught 
with  sobs.  "I  not  expec'  you  marry  me.  I  not  bot'er 
you  wit'  much  talk  lak'  a  wife.  I  jus'  be  your  little 


220  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

servant.  You  not  want  me,  you  say :  Go  'way.  I  jus* 
wait  till  you  want  me  again." 

Ambrose  turned  his  head  away.  He  had  never 
imagined  a  man  having  to  go  through  with  anything 
like  this. 

"Always,  always  I  work  for  you,"  she  whispered. 
"Let  Colina  Gaviller  marry  you.  She  not  mind  me. 
I  guess  she  not  mind  that  little  dog  you  love.  I  jus' 
poor,  common  red  girl.  She  think  not'ing  of  me!" 

Ambrose  laughed  a  bitter  note  at  the  picture  she 
called  up.  "That  would  hardly  work,"  he  said. 

"But  tak*  me  wit'  you,"  she  implored.  She  finally 
ventured  to  lay  her  cheek  on  his  knee. 

He  laid  a  hand  on  her  hair.  "Listen,  you  baby," 
he  said,  "and  try  to  understand  me.  You  know  that 
they  are  going  to  try  to  put  off  all  this  trouble  on 
me.  They  will  say  I  made  the  Indians  do  bad.  They 
will  say  I  tried  to  kill  John  Gaviller.  The  police  will 
arrest  me,  and  there  will  be  a  trial.  You  know  what 
that  is." 

"Everybody  see  you  not  a  bad  man,"  she  said. 

"It's  not  as  simple  as  that,"  he  said  with  a  wry 
smile.  "I  have  nobody  to  speak  for  me  but  myself. 
Now,  if  you  go  away  with  me  everybody  will  say: 
'Ambrose  Doane  stole  Watusk's  wife  away  from  him. 
Ambrose  Doane  is  a  bad  man.'  And  then  they  will 
not  believe  me  when  I  say  I  did  not  lead  the  Indians 
into  wrong;  I  did  not  try  to  kill  John  Gaviller." 

"I  speak  for  you,"  cried  Nesis.  "I  tell  Gordon 
Strange  and  Watusk  fix  all  trouble  together." 

"If  you  go  with  me,  they  will  not  believe  you 
either,"  said  Ambrose  patiently.  "They  will  say: 
'Nesis  is  crazy  about  Ambrose  Doane.  He  makes  her 
say  whatever  he  wants.' ' 

"It  is  the  truth  I  am  crazy  'bout  you,"  said  Nesis. 

Ambrose  sighed.    "Listen  to  me.    I  tell  you  straight, 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

if  you  go  with  me  it  will  ruin  me.  I  am  as  good  as 
a  jailbird  already." 

She  gave  her  head  an  impatient  shake.  "I  not 
understand,"  she  said  sadly.  "You  say  it.  I  guess  it 
is  truth." 

There  was  a  silence.  Nesis's  childlike  brows  were 
bent  into  a  frown.  She  glanced  into  his  face  to  see  if 
there  was  any  reprieve  from  the  hard  sentence.  Finally 
she  said  very  low: 

"Angleysman,  you  got  go  to  jail  if  you  tak'  me?" 

"Sure  as  fate!"  he  said  sadly. 

She  got  up  very  slowly.  "I  guess  I  ver*  foolish," 
she  murmured.  She  waited,  obviously  to  give  him  a 
chance  to  speak.  He  was  mum. 

"I  go  back  now,"  she  whispered  heart-brokenly,  and 
turned  toward  her  canoe. 

With  her  hand  on  the  prow  she  waited  again,  not 
looking  at  him,  hoping  against  hope.  There  was 
something  crushed  and  palpitating  in  her  aspect  like 
a  wounded  bird.  Ambrose  felt  like  a  monster  of 
cruelty. 

Suddenly  a  fresh  fear  attacked  him.  "Nesis,"  he 
asked,  "how  will  you  explain  being  away  overnight?" 
They  will  connect  it  with  my  escape.  What  will  they 
do  to  you?" 

She  turned  her  head,  showing  him  a  painful  little 
smile.  "You  not  think  of  that  before,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  not  care  what  they  do  by  me.  You  not 
love  me." 

He  strode  to  her  and  clapped  a  rough  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  "Here,  I  couldn't  have  them  hurt  you!" 
he  cried  harshly.  "You  baby!  You  come  with  me. 
I'm  in  as  bad  as  I  can  be  already.  A  little  more  or 
less  won't  make  any  difference.  I'll  chance  it,  anyway. 
You  come  with  me!" 

"Oh,  my  Angleysman!"  she  breathed,  and  sank  a 
little  limp  heap  at  his  feet. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Ambrose  blew  up  the  forgotten  fire  and  made  tea. 
Nesis  quickly  revived.  Having  made  up  his  mind  to 
take  her,  he  put  the  best  possible  face  on  it. 

There  were  to  be  no  more  reproaches.  Her  pitiful 
anxiety  not  to  anger  him  again  made  him  wince.  Her 
eyes  never  left  his  face.  If  he  so  much  as  frowned 
at  an  uncomfortable  thought  they  became  tragic. 

"Look  here,  I'm  not  a  brute !"  he  cried,  exasperated. 

Nesis  looked  foolish,  and  quickly  turned  her  head 
away. 

Over  their  tea  and  bannock  they  became  almost 
cheerful.  Motion  had  made  them  both  hungry. 

Ambrose  glanced  at  their  slender  store.  "We'll 
never  hang  out  to  the  lake  at  this  rate,"  he  said  laugh- 
ing. 

"I  set  rabbit  snare  when  we  sleep,"  Nesis  said  quick- 
ly. "I  catch  fish.  I  shoot  wild  duck." 

"Shall  we  leave  one  of  the  canoes?"  asked  Ambrose. 

She  shook  her  head  vigorously.  "Each  tak'  one. 
Maybe  one  bus'  in  rapids.  You  sleep  in  your  canoe 
now.  I  pull  you." 

Ambrose  shook  his  head.  "No  sleep  until  to-night," 
he  said. 

Ambrose  was  lighting  his  pipe  and  Nesis  was  gath- 
ering up  the  things  when  suddenly  Job  sprang  up, 
barking  furiously.  At  the  same  moment  half  a  score 
of  dark  faces  rose  above  the  bank  behind  them,  and 
gun-barrels  stuck  up. 

Among  the  ten  was  a  distorted,  snarling,  yellow 
face.  Ambrose  snatched  up  his  own  gun.  Nesis  ut- 
tered a  gasping  cry;  such  a  sound  of  terror  Ambrose 
had  never  heard. 

"Shoot  me!"  she  gasped,  crawling  toward  him. 
"You  shoot  me!  Angleysman,  quick!  Shoot  me!" 

Her  heartrending  cries  had  so  confused  him,  he  was 
seized  before  he  could  raise  his  gun. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    ALARM. 

AMBROSE  was  pacing  his  log  prison  once  more.  The 
earth  had  been  filled  in,  the  hole  in  the  floor  roughly 
repaired,  and  now  his  jailers  took  turns  in  patrolling 
around  the  shack. 

Imprisonment  was  doubly  hard  now.  Day  and  night 
Nesis's  strange  cries  of  terror  rang  in  his  ears.  He 
knew  something  about  the  Indians'  ideas  of  punishing 
women.  His  imagination  never  ceased  to  suggest  ter- 
rible things  that  might  have  befallen  her. 

"God!  Every  one  that  comes  near  me  suffers!"  he 
cried  in  his  first  despair. 

The  explanation  of  their  surprise  proved  simple. 
Watusk  and  his  crew,  pursuing  them  in  two  dugouts, 
had  seen  the  smoke  of  their  fire  from  up  the  river. 

They  had  landed  above  the  point  and,  making  a 
short  detour  inland,  had  fallen  on  Ambrose  and  Nesis 
from  behind.  Nesis  had  been  carried  back  in  one  dug- 
out, Ambrose  in  the  other. 

During  the  trip  no  ill-usage  had  been  offered  her, 
as  far  as  he  could  see,  but  upon  reaching  the  village 
she  had  been  spirited  away,  and  he  had  not  seen  her 
since. 

His  last  glimpse  had  shown  him  her  child's  face  al- 
most dehumanized  with  terror. 

Ambrose  now  for  the  first  time  received  a  visit  from 
Watusk.  Watusk  had  also  traveled  in  the  other  dug- 
out ascending  the  river,  and  they  had  exchanged  no 
words. 

He  came  to  the  shack  attended  by  his  four  little 
familiars,  and  the  door  was  closed  behind  them.  These 

223  V 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

four  were  like  supers  in  a  theater.  They  had  no  lines  to 
speak.  Watusk's  aspect  was  intended  to  be  imposing. 

In  addition  to  the  red  sash  he  now  wore  three  belts, 
the  first  full  of  cartridges,  the  second  supporting  an 
old  cavalry  saber,  the  third  carrying  two  gigantic  .4  1 
Colts  in  holsters. 

He  carried  the  Winchester  over  his  arm,  and  still 
wore  the  grimy  pith  helmet.  Ambrose  smiled  with  bit- 
ter amusement.  It  seemed  like  the  very  sport  of  fate 
that  he  should  be  placed  in  the  power  of  such  a  poor 
creature  as  this. 

"How!"  said  Watusk,  offering  his  hand  with  an 
affable  smile. 

Ambrose,  remembering  the  look  of  his  face  when  it 
rose  over  the  bank,  was  sharply  taken  aback.  He 
lacked  a  clue  to  the  course  of  reasoning  pursued  by 
Watusk's  mongrel  mind.  However,  he  quickly  re- 
flected that  it  was  only  by  exercising  his  wits  that 
he  could  hope  to  help  Nesis.  He  took  the  detestable 
hand  and  returned  an  offhand  greeting. 

"You  mak*  beeg  mistak'  you  try  run  away,"  said 
Watusk.  "You  mos'  safe  here." 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Ambrose  warily. 

"I  your  friend,"  said  Watusk. 

Ambrose  suppressed  the  inclination  to  laugh. 

"I  keep  you  here  so  people  won't  hurt  you,"  Wa- 
tusk went  on.  "My  people  lak  children.  Pretty  soon 
forget  what  they  after.  Pretty  soon  forget  they  made 
at  you.  Then  I  let  you  out." 

"Do  you  still  mean  to  say  that  I  killed  one  of  your 
men?"  demanded  Ambrose  hotly. 

Watusk  shrugged.     "Myengeen  say  so." 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  Ambrose  scornfully.  An  ex- 
pectant look  in  Watusk's  eye  arrested  him  from  say- 
ing more.  "He's  trying  to  find  out  how  much  Nesis 
told  me,"  he  thought.  Aloud  he  said,  with  a  shrug  like 
Watusk  himself :  "Well,  I'll  be  glad  when  it  blows  over." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  225 

"Two  three  day  I  let  you  out,"  Watusk  said  sooth- 
ingly. "You  can  have  anyt'ing  you  want." 

"How  is  Nesis?"  demanded  Ambrose   abruptly. 

There  was  a  subtle  change  in  Watusk's  eyes;  no 
muscle  of  his  face  altered. 

"She  all  right,"  he  said  coolly. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"I  send  her  to  my  big  camp  'cross  the  river." 

"You  shouldn't  blame  Nesis  for  helping  me  out," 
Ambrose  said  earnestly — not  that  he  expected  to  make 
any  impression.  "She's  only  a  child.  I  made  her  do 
it." 

Watusk  spread  out  his  palms  blandly.  "I  not 
blame  her,"  he  said.  "I  not  care  not'ing  only  maybe 
you  get  drown  in  the  rapids." 

Ambrose  studied  the  brown  mask  narrowly.  Watusk 
gave  nothing  away.  Suddenly  the  Indian  smiled. 

"You  t'ink  I  mad  for  cause  she  go  wit'  you?"  he 
said.  He  laughed  silently.  "Wa!  There  are  plenty 
women.  When  I  let  you  out  I  give  you  Nesis." 

This  sounded  a  little  too  philanthropic. 

"H-m!"  said  Ambrose. 

"You  lak  little  Nesis,  hey?"  inquired  Watusk,  leer- 
ing. 

Ambrose  was  warned  by  a  crafty  shadow  in  the  other 
man's  eye. 

"Sure!"  he  said  lightly.  "Didn't  she  help  me  out 
of  here?" 

"You  lak  talk  wit'  her,  I  t'ink." 

Ambrose  thought  fast.  The  only  English  words 
Nesis  had  spoken  in  Watusk's  hearing  were  her  cries 
of  fright  at  his  appearance.  In  the  confusion  of  that 
moment  it  was  possible  Watusk  had  not  remarked 
them. 

"Talk  to  her?"  said  Ambrose,  simulating  surprise. 
"Only  by  signs." 

"How  she  get  you  out,  then?"  Watusk  quickly 
asked. 


226  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

This  was  a  poser.  To  hesitate  was  to  confess  all. 
Ambrose  drew  a  quick  breath  and  plunged  ahead. 

"Why,  she  and  a  lot  of  girls  were  picking  berries 
that  day.  They  came  around  the  shack  here  and  began 
to  jolly  me  through  the  window.  I  fixed  Nesis  with 
my  eye  and  scared  her.  I  made  a  sign  for  her  to  bring 
me  a  knife.  She  brought  it  at  night.  I  put  my  magic 
on  her  and  made  her  help  me  dig  out  and  get  me  an 
outfit.  I  was  afraid  she'd  raise  an  alarm  as  soon  as 
I  left,  so  I  made  her  come,  too." 

"Why  you  tak'  two  canoe?"  asked  Watusk. 

"In  case  we  should  break  one  in  the  rapids." 

"So!"  said  Watusk. 

Ambrose  lighted  his  pipe  with  great  carelessness. 
He  was  unable  to  tell  from  Watusk's  face  if  his  story 
had  made  any  impression.  Thinking  of  the  conjure- 
man,  he  hoped  the  suggestion  of  magic  might  have 
an  effect. 

"I  let  you  out  now,"  said  Watusk  suddenly.  "You 
got  promise  me  you  not  go  way  from  here  before  I 
tell  you  go.  Give  me  your  hand  and  swear." 

Ambrose  smelled  treachery.  He  shook  his  head. 
"I'll  escape  if  I  can !" 

Watusk  shrugged  his  shoulder  and  turned  away. 

"You  foolish,"  he  said.     "I  your  friend.     Good-by." 

"Good-by,"  returned  Ambrose  ironically. 

Ambrose  walked  his  floor,  studying  Watusk's  words 
from  every  angle.  The  result  of  his  cogitations  was 
nil.  Watusk's  mind  was  at  the  same  time  too  devious 
and  too  inconsequential  for  a  mind  like  Ambrose's  to 
track  it.  Ambrose  decided  that  he  was  like  one  of 
the  childish,  unreasonable  liars  one  meets  in  the  mem- 
tally  defective  of  our  own  race.  Such  a  one  is  clever 
to  no  purpose :  he  will  blandly  attempt  to  lie  away  the 
presence  of  truth. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Ambrose,  making 
his  endless  tramp  back  and  forth  across  the  little 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  227 

shack,  paused  to  take  an  observation  from  the  window, 
and  saw  three  horsemen  come  tearing  down  the  trail 
into  camp. 

They  flung  themselves  off  their  horses  with  excited 
gestures,  and  the  camp  was  instantly  thrown  into  con- 
fusion. The  natives  darted  among  the  teepees  like 
ants  when  their  hill  is  broken  into. 

Watusk  appeared,  buckling  on  his  belts.  The  women 
that  were  left  in  camp  started  to  scuttle  toward  the 
river,  dragging  their  children  after  them. 

Ambrose's  heart  bounded  at  the  prospect  of  a  diver- 
sion. Whatever  happened,  his  lot  could  be  no  worse. 
At  the  first  alarm  three  of  his  jailers  had  run  down 
to  the  teepees.  They  came  back  in  a  hurry. 

The  door  of  the  shack  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
whole  six  rushed  in  and  seized  him.  Ambrose,  seeking 
to  delay  them,  struggled  hard.  They  finally  got  his 
hands  and  feet  tied,  cursing  him  heartily  in  their  own 
tongue.  They  hustled  him  down  to  the  riverside. 

All  the  people  left  on  this  side  were  already  gath- 
ered there.  They  continually  looked  over  their  shoul- 
ders with  faces  ashen  with  terror.  The  men  who  had 
horses  drove  them  into  the  river  and  swam  across  with 
a  hand  upon  the  saddle. 

The  women  and  children  were  ferried  in  the  dugout. 
So  great  was  their  haste  they  came  empty-handed. 
The  teepees  were  left  as  they  stood  with  fires  burning 
and  flaps  up. 

Watusk  passed  near  Ambrose,  his  yellow  face  livid 
with  agitation. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  the  white  man. 

The  chief  was  afflicted  with  a  sudden  deafness. 

Ambrose  was  cast  in  a  dugout.  The  indefatigable 
Job  hopped  in  after  and  made  himself  small  at  his 
master's  feet. 

The  mad  excitement  of  the  whole  crowd  inspired 
Ambrose  with  a  strong  desire  to  laugh.  The  water 


228  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

flew  in  cascades  from  the  frantic  paddles  of  the  boat- 
men. 

Arriving  on  the  other  side,  Ambrose  was  secured  on 
a  horse,  as  on  his  first  journey,  and  instantly  des- 
patched inland  with  his  usual  guard.  As  he  was  car- 
ried away  they  were  dragging  up  the  dugouts  and 
concealing  them  under  the  willows.  Watusk  was  send- 
ing men  to  watch  from  the  cemetery  on  top  of  the 
bold  hill. 

Ambrose's  guards  led  his  horse  at  a  smart  lope 
around  a  spur  of  the  hill  and  along  beside  a  wasted 
stream  almost  lost  in  its  stony  bed.  A  dense  forest 
bordered  either  bank.  The  trail  was  broken  and 
spread  by  the  recent  passage  of  a  large  number  of 
travelers ;  these  would  be  the  main  body  of  the  Kakisas 
a  week  before.  Ambrose  guessed  that  they  were  fol- 
lowing the  bed  of  a  coulee. 

Through  the  tree-tops  on  either  hand  he  had  occa- 
sional glimpses  of  steep,  high  banks. 

After  a  dozen  miles  or  so  of  this  they  suddenly  de- 
bouched into  a  verdant  little  valley  without  a  tree. 
The  stream  meandered  through  it  with  endless  twists. 

Except  for  two  narrow  breaks  where  it  entered  and 
issued  forth,  the  hills  pressed  all  around,  steep,  grassy 
hills,  fantastically  knobbed  and  holloAved. 

The  floor  of  the  valley  was  about  a  third  of  a  mile 
long  and  half  as  wide.  It  was  flat  and  covered  with  a 
growth  of  blue-joint  grass  as  high  as  a  man's  knee. 

The  whole  place  was  like  a  large  clean,  green  bowl 
flecked  here  and  there  with  patches  of  bright  crimson 
where  the  wild  rose  scrub  grew  in  the  hollows. 

Ambrose,  casting  his  eyes  over  the  green  panorama, 
was  astonished  to  see  at  intervals  around  the  sky-line 
little  groups  of  men  busily  at  work.  They  appeared 
to  be  digging;  he  could  not  be  sure.  One  does  not 
readily  associate  Indians  with  spades.  His  guards 
pointed  out  the  workers  to  one  another,  jabbering 
excitedly  in  the  uncouth  Kakisa. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

They  rode  on  through  the  upper  entrance  of  the 
valley  and  plunged  into  forest  again.  Another  mile, 
and  they  came  abruptly  on  the  Indian  village  hidden 
in  a  glade  just  big  enough  to  contain  it. 

It  had  grown ;  there  were  many  more  teepees  in 
sight  than  Ambrose  had  counted  before.  They  faced 
each  other  in  two  long  double  rows  with  a  narrow 
green  between.  Down  the  middle  of  the  green  ran 
the  stream,  here  no  bigger  than  a  man  might  step 
across. 

Ambrose  was  unceremoniously  thrust  into  one  of  the 
first  teepees  and,  bound  hand  and  foot,  left  to  his  own 
devices.  He  managed  to  drag  himself  to  the  door, 
where  he  could  at  least  see  something  of  what  was 
going  on.  He  looked  eagerly  for  a  sight  of  Nesis,  or, 
failing  her,  one  of  the  girls  who  had  accompanied  her 
on  the  berry-picking  expedition,  and  who  might  be 
induced  to  give  him  some  honest  information  about  her. 
He  was  not  rewarded. 

All  who  entered  the  village  from  the  east  passed  by 
him.  Watusk  and  the  rest  of  the  people  from  the 
river  arrived  in  an  hour. 

Here  among  safe  numbers  of  their  own  people  they 
recovered  from  their  alarm.  Ambrose  suspected  their 
present  confidence  to  be  as  little  founded  on  reason  as 
their  previous  terror.  Watusk,  strutting  like  a  tur- 
key-cock in  his  military  finery,  issued  endless  orders. 

At  intervals  the  workers  from  the  ( hills  straggled 
into  camp.  Ambrose  saw  that  they  had  been  using 
their  paddles  as  spades.  A  general  and  significant 
cleaning  of  rifles  took  place  before  the  teepees. 

At  dusk  two  more  men  rode  in,  probably  outposts 
Watusk  had  left  at  the  river.  One  held  up  his  two 
hands,  opening  out  and  closing  the  fingers  twice.  Am- 
brose guessed  from  this  that  the  coming  police  party 
numbered  twenty. 

The  last  thing  he  saw  as  darkness  infolded  the  camp 
was  the  boys  driving  in  the  horses  from  the  hills. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   TRAP. 

HE  shared  the  teepee  with  his  six  guards.  Sleep 
was  remote  from  his  eyes.  Nevertheless,  he  did  fall 
off  at  last,  only,  it  seemed  to  him,  to  be  immediately 
awakened  by  his  guards. 

His  ankles  were  unbound,  and  he  was  made  to 
understand  that  he  must  ride  again.  Ambrose,  seeing 
no  advantage  to  be  gained  by  resistance,  did  what 
they  ordered  without  objection. 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  went  outside.  A  pitiful 
little  yelp  behind  him  caused  him  to  whirl  about  and 
dart  inside  again. 

"Hands  off  my  dog !"  he  cried  in  a  voice  that  caused 
the  Kakisas  to  fall  back  in  affright. 

There  was  a  little  light  from  the  fire.  Their  at- 
titude was  conciliatory.  In  their  own  language  they 
sought  to  explain.  One  pointed  to  a  kind  of  pannier 
of  birch-bark  hanging  from  a  teepee  pole,  whence 
issued  a  violent  scratching. 

"Let  him  out  !"  cried  Ambrose. 

They  expostulated  with  him.  None  made  any  move 
to  obey. 

"Let  him  out !"  commanded  Ambrose,  "or  I'll  smash 
something !" 

Watusk,  attracted  by  the  noise,  stuck  his  head  in. 
The  matter  was  explained  to  him.  Lifting  the  cover 
of  the  pannier,  he  exhibited  the  frightened  but  un- 
harmed Job  to  his  master. 

"Him  all  right,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Let  be.  We 
got  mak*  new  camp  to-night.  Can't  tak'  no  dogs. 
Him  come  wit'  women  to-morrow." 

230 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  231 

Ambrose  did  not  believe  him,  of  course ;  but  if  help 
were  really  so  near,  he  felt  it  would  be  suicidal  to  pro- 
voke a  conflict  at  this  moment.  Apparently  they  in- 
tended the  dog  no  harm.  He  assumed  to  be  contented 
with  Watusk's  explanation. 

"Good  dog,"  he  said  to  Job.  "You're  all  right. 
Lie  down." 

Ambrose  mounted,  and  they  tied  him  on  as  usual. 
On  every  hand  he  could  see  men  mounting  and  riding 
out  of  the  village.  His  heart  slowly  rose  into  his 
throat. 

Could  it  be  meant  that  he  was  to  take  part  in  a 
night  attack  on  the  police?  Surely  the  redcoats  would 
never  allow  themselves  to  be  surprised !  Anyhow,  if  he 
was  to  be  present,  it  would  be  strange  if  he  could  not 
help  his  own  in  some  way. 

His  horse  was  led  up  the  hill,  off  at  right  angles 
to  the  village.  Watusk  remained  near  him.  As  they 
rose  to  higher  ground  the  moon  came  into  view,  hang- 
ing above  the  tree-tops  across  the  valley,  preparatory 
to  sinking  out  of  sight. 

In  its  light  the  objects  around  him  were  more  clearly 
revealed.  Apparently  the  riders  were  straggling  to 
a  rendezvous.  There  was  no  haste.  The  terrible  de- 
pression which  had  afflicted  Ambrose  since  Nesis  had 
disappeared  was  dissipated  by  the  imminence  of  a 
great  event. 

He  lived  in  the  moment.  Out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye 
he  observed  Watusk's  mount,  a  lustrous  black  stallion, 
the  finest  piece  of  horseflesh  he  had  seen  in  the  north. 

Ambrose  heard  a  confused  murmur  ahead.  Rising 
over  the  edge  of  the  hill  he  saw  its  cause.  A  great 
body  of  horses  was  gathered  close  together  on  the 
prairie,  each  with  its  rider  standing  at  its  head. 

The  animals  jostled  each  other,  bit  and  squealed, 
stamped  their  forefeet,  and  tossed  their  manes.  The 


232  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

men  were  silent.  It  made  a  weird  scene  in  the  fading 
moonlight. 

Men  and  horses  partook  of  a  ghostly  quality;  the 
faces  nearest  him  blank,  oval  patches,  faintly  phos- 
phorescent, were  like  symbols  of  the  tragedy  of  man- 
kind. 

Watusk  kept  Ambrose  at  his  side.  Facing  his  men, 
he  raised  his  hand  theatrically.  They  sprang  to 
their  saddles  and,  wheeling,  set  out  over  the  prairie. 
Gradually  they  lengthened  out  into  single  file. 

Presently  the  leader  came  loping  back,  and  the 
whole  body  rode  around  Watusk  and  Ambrose  in  a 
vast  circle.  It  was  like  an  uncanny  midnight  circus. 

The  riders  maintained  their  silence.  The  only 
sounds  were  the  thudding  of  hoofs  on  turf  and  the 
shaking  of  the  horsemen  in  their  clothes.  Only  one 
or  two  used  saddles.  The  rifle-barrels  caught  dull 
gleams  of  moonlight. 

At  another  signal  from  Watusk  they  pulled  up  and, 
turning  their  horses'  heads  toward  the  center,  made 
as  small  a  circle  as  their  numbers  could  squeeze  into. 

Watusk  addressed  Ambrose  with  a  magniloquent  air. 
"See  my  children,  white  man !  Brave  as  the  white-face 
mountain  bear !  Swift  as  flying  duck !  This  only  a 
few  my  men.  Toward  the  setting  sun  I  got  so  many 
more  wait  my  call. 

"By  the  big  lake  I  got  Another  great  army.  Let 
white  men  tak'  care  how  they  treat  us  bad.  To-morrow 
red  man's  day  come.  He  got  Watusk  lead  him  now. 
Watusk  see  through  white  man's  bluff!" 

It  was  impossible  for  Ambrose  not  to  be  impressed, 
ridiculous  as  Watusk's  harangue  was.  There  were 
the  men,  not  less  than  two  hundred — and  twenty  police 
to  be  attacked. 

Watusk  now  rode  around  the  circle,  addressing  his 
men  in  their  own  tongue,  singling  out  this  man  and 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  233 

that,  and  issuing  instructions.  It  was  all  received  in 
the  same  silence. 

Ambrose  believed  these  quiet,  ragged  little  warriors 
to  be  more  dangerous  than  their  inflated  leader.  At 
least  in  their  ignorance  they  were  honest;  one  could 
respect  them. 

In  more  ways  than  one  Ambrose  had  felt  drawn  to 
the  Kakisas.  They  seemed  to  him  a  real  people,  largely 
unspoiled  as  yet  by  the  impact  of  a  stronger  race. 

If  he  could  only  have  talked  to  them,  he  thought. 
Surely  in  five  minutes  he  could  put  them  to  rights  and 
overthrow  this  general  of  straw! 

Watusk  rode  out  of  the  circle,  followed  by  Ambrose 
and  Ambrose's  guard.  Several  of  the  leading  men, 
including  one  that  Ambrose  guessed  from  his  size  to 
be  Myengeen,  joined  Watusk  in  front,  and  the  main 
body  made  a  soft  thunder  of  hoofs  in  the  rear. 

They  were  headed  in  a  southeasterly  direction — 
that  is  to  say,  back  toward  the  Kakisa  River.  They 
rode  at  a  walk.  There  was  no  conversation  except 
among  the  leaders.  The  moon  went  down  and  the 
shadows  pressed  closer. 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  division.  Myengeen 
parted  from  Watusk  and  rode  off  to  the  right,  fol- 
lowed, Ambrose  judged  from  the  sounds,  by  a  great 
part  of  the  horsemen. 

The  remainder  kept  on  in  the  same  direction.  Half 
a  mile  farther  Watusk  himself  drew  aside.  Ambrose's 
guards  and  others  joined  him,  while  the  balance  of 
the  Indians  rode  on  and  were  swallowed  in  the  darkness. 

Watusk  turned  to  the  right.  Presently  they  were 
stopped  by  a  bluff  of  poplar  saplings  growing  in  a 
hollow.  Here  all  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  to 
trees. 

Ambrose's  ankles  were  loosed  and,  with  an  Indian's 
hand  on  either  shoulder,  he  was  guided  through  the 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

grass  around  the  edge  of  the  trees.  He  speculated 
vainly  on  what  this  move  portended. 

No  attack,  certainly;  they  were  striking  matches 
and  lighting  their  pipes.  Suddenly  the  dim  figures  in 
front  were  swallowed  up. 

Immediately  afterward  Ambrose  was  led  down  an 
incline  into  a  kind  of  pit.  The  smell  of  turned  earth 
was  in  his  nostrils ;  he  could  still  see  the  stars  over- 
head. They  gave  him  a  corner,  and  his  ankles  were 
again  tied. 

Soon  it  began  to  grow  light.  Little  by  little  Am- 
brose made  out  the  confines  of  the  pit  or  trench.  It 
was  some  twenty-five  feet  long  and  five  feet  wide.  When 
the  Indians  stood  erect,  the  shortest  man  could  just 
look  over  the  edge. 

Ambrose  counted  twenty-one  men  besides  Watusk 
and  himself.  It  was  close  quarters.  When  it  became 
light  enough  to  see  clearly,  they  lined  up  in  front  of 
him,  eagerly  looking  over.  One  was  lighting  a  little 
fire  and  putting  grass  on  it  to  make  a  smudge. 

Ambrose  got  his  feet  under  him,  and  managed  after 
several  attempts  to  stand  upright.  He  was  tall  enough 
to  look  over  the  heads  of  the  Indians. 

Stretching  before  him  he  saw  the  valley  he  had 
remarked  the  evening  before,  with  the  streamlet  wind- 
ing like  a  silver  ribbon  in  a  green  flounce. 

But  what  the  Indians  were  looking  at  were  little 
pillars  of  smoke  which  ascended  at  intervals  all  around 
the  edge  of  the  hills,  hung  for  a  moment  or  two  in  the 
motionless  air,  and  disappeared.  Ambrose  counted 
eight  besides  their  own. 

Watusk  exclaimed  in  satisfaction,  and  ordered  the 
fire  put  out.  This,  then,  was  the  explanation  of  the 
digging — rifle-pits ! 

Ambrose  marveled  at  the  cunning  with  which  it  had 
all  been  contrived.  The  excavated  earth  had  been 
carried  somewhere  to  the  rear. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  235 

Wild-rose  scrub  had  been  cut  and  replanted  in  the 
earth  around  three  sides  of  the  pit,  leaving  a  clear 
space  between  the  stems  for  the  men  to  shoot  through, 
with  a  screen  of  the  crimson  leaves  above. 

So  well  had  it  been  done  that  Ambrose  could  not 
distinguish  the  other  pits  from  the  patches  of  wild- 
rose  scrub  growing  naturally  on  the  hills. 

Ambrose's  heart  sank  with  the  apprehension  of  seri- 
ous danger.  He  began  to  wonder  if  he  and  all  the 
other  whites  in  the  country  had  not  under-rated  these 
red  men.  Where  could  Watusk  have  learned  his  tac- 
tics? The  thing  was  devilishly  planned. 

With  the  cross-fire  of  two  hundred  rifles  they  could 
mow  down  an  army  if  they  could  get  them  inside  that 
valley.  Each  narrow  entrance  was  covered  by  a  pair 
of  pits.  Every  part  of  the  bowl  was  within  range 
of  every  pit. 

Ambrose  feared  that  the  police,  in  their  careless 
disdain  of  the  natives,  might  ride  straight  into  the 
trap  and  be  lost. 

"Watusk,  for  God's  sake,  what  do  you  mean  to 
do?"  he  cried. 

Watusk  was  intensely  gratified  by  the  white  man's 
alarm.  He  smiled  insolently.  "Ah!"  he  said.  "You 
on'erstan*  now!" 

"You  fool!"  cried  Ambrose.  "If  you  fire  on  the 
police  you'll  be  wiped  clean  off  the  earth!  The  whole 
power  of  the  government  will  descend  on  your  head! 
There  won't  be  a  single  Kakisa  left  to  tell  the  story 
of  what  happened!" 

Watusk's  face  turned  ugly.  His  eyes  bolted.  "Shut 
up !"  he  snarled,  "or  I  gag  you." 

Ambrose,  bethinking  himself  that  he  might  use  his 
voice  to  good  purpose  later,  clenched  his  teeth  and 
said  no  more. 

At  sunrise  a  fresh  breeze  sprang  up  from  the  south. 
Soon  after  a  whisper  of  distant  trotting  horses  was 


236  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

borne  upon  it.  Ambrose's  heart  leaped  to  his  throat. 
An  excited  murmur  ran  among  the  Indians.  They 
picked  up  their  guns. 

Watusk's  pit  was  one  of  the  pair  covering  the 
upper  entrance  to  the  valley.  It  was  thus  farthest 
away  from  the  approaching  horsemen.  It  faced 
straight  down  the  valley.  Through  the  lower  gap  they 
caught  the  gleam  of  the  red  coats. 

Ambrose  beheld  them  with  a  painfully  contracted 
heart.  He  gaged  in  his  mind  how  far  his  voice  might 
carry.  The  wind  was  against  him. 

Presumably  he  would  only  be  allowed  to  cry  out 
once,  so  it  behooved  him  to  make  sure  it  was  heard. 
However,  the  same  thought  was  in  the  minds  of  the 
Indians.  They  scowled  at  him  suspiciously. 

Suddenly,  while  it  was  yet  useless  for  him  to  crjr 
out,  they  fell  upon  him,  bearing  him  to  the  ground! 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE  TEST. 

AFTER  a  fierce  struggle  Ambrose  was  securely  bound 
and  gagged.  He  managed  to  get  to  his  feet  again. 
His  soul  sickened  at  the  tragedy  it  forecast,  yet  he 
had  to  look. 

To  his  overwhelming  relief  he  saw  that  the  redcoats 
had  halted  in  the  lower  entrance  to  the  valley.  Evi- 
dently the  possibility  of  an  ambush  in  so  favored  a 
spot  had  occurred  to  their  leader.  The  baggage  was 
sent  back. 

His  relief  was  short-lived.  Presently  the  advance 
was  resumed  at  a  walk,  and  a  pair  of  skirmishers  sent 
out  on  either  side  to  mount  the  hills.  Ambrose  counted 
sixteen  redcoats  in  the  main  body,  and  a  man  in  plain 
clothes,  evidently  a  native  guide. 

One  skirmisher  on  the  left  was  headed  all  uncon- 
scious straight  for  a  rifle  pit.  Ambrose,  suffocated  by 
his  impotence,  tugged  at  his  bonds  and  groaned  under 
the  gag.  "Turn  back !  Turn  back !"  shouted  his  voice- 
less tongue. 

There  was  a  shot.  Ambrose  closed  his  eyes  expect- 
ing a  fusillade  to  follow.  It  did  not  come.  From  his 
pit,  Watusk  hissed  a  negative  order. 

Ambrose  heard  a  shrill  whistle  from  the  bottom  of 
the  valley,  and  opening  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  skirmishers 
riding  slowly  back  to  the  main  body.  Even  at  the 
distance  their  nonchalant  air  was  evident. 

The  main  body  had  quietly  halted  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley.  After  a  moment's  pause,  one  of  their 
number  raised  a  rifle  with  a  white  flag  tied  to  the 
barrel. 

237 


238  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  Indians  surrounding  Ambrose,  lowered  their 
guns,  and  murmured  confusedly  among  themselves. 
Ambrose  looked  at  Watusk. 

The  chief  betrayed  symptoms  of  indecision,  biting 
his  lip,  and  pulling  his  fingers  until  the  joints  cracked. 
Ambrose  took  a  little  encouragement  from  the  sight. 

To  Ambrose's  astonishment  he  saw  the  troopers 
dismounting.  Flinging  the  lines  over  their  horses' 
heads,  they  allowed  the  beasts  to  crop  the  rich  grass 
of  the  bottoms. 

The  men  stood  about  in  careless  twos  and  threes, 
lighting  their  pipes.  Only  their  leader  remained  in 
the  saddle,  lolling  comfortably  sidewise.  The  breeze 
brought  the  sound  of  their  light  talk  and  deep 
laughter. 

The  effect  on  the  Indians  was  marked.  Their  jaws 
dropped,  they  looked  at  each  other  incredulously,  they 
jabbered  excitedly. 

Plainly  they  were  divided  between  admiration  and 
mystification.  Watusk  was  demoralized.  His  hand 
shook,  an  ashy  tint  crept  under  his  yellow  skin,  an 
agony  of  impotent  rage  narrowed  his  eyes. 

Ambrose's  heart  swelled  with  the  pride  of  race. 
"Splendid  fellows !"  he  cried  to  himself.  "It  was 
exactly  the  right  thing  to  do !" 

Presently  a  hail  was  raised  in  the  valley  below;  a 
deep  English  voice  whose  tones  gladdened  Ambrose's 
ears.  "Ho,  Watusk!" 

Every  eye  turned  toward  the  leader.  Watusk  had 
the  air  of  a  wilful  child  called  by  his  parent.  He 
pished  and  swaggered,  and  made  some  remark  to  his 
men  with  the  obsequious  smile  with  which  child — or 
man — asks  for  the  support  of  his  mates  in  his  wrong- 
doing. 

The  men  did  not  smile  back;  they  merely  watched 
soberly  to  see  what  Watusk  was  going  to  do  about  it. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  239 

The  hail  was  repeated.  "Ho,  Watusk!  Inspector 
Egerton  orders  you  to  come  and  talk  to  him!" 

So  it  was  Colonel  Egerton,  thought  Ambrose,  com- 
mander of  B  district  of  the  police,  and  known  affec- 
tionately from  Caribou  Lake  to  the  Arctic  as  Patch- 
pants  Egerton,  or  simply  as  "the  old  man."  He  was 
a  veteran  of  two  Indian  uprisings.  Ambrose  felt  still 
further  reassured. 

Watusk,  still  swaggering,  nevertheless  visibly  weak- 
ened. In  the  end  he  had  to  go,  just  as  a  child  must 
in  the  end  obey  a  calm,  imperative  summons. 

He  issued  a  petulant  order.  All  the  men  except 
Ambrose's  guard  of  six  took  their  guns  and  filed  out 
through  the  back  of  the  pit. 

Watusk  went  last.  Glancing  over  his  shoulder  and 
seeing  that  those  left  behind  were  busily  watching  the 
troopers  in  the  valley,  he  produced  a  flask  from  his 
pocket  and  took  a  pull  at  it.  Ambrose  caught  the 
act  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Watusk  and  his  followers  rode 
over  the  edge  of  the  hill  to  the  left  of  the  rifle  pit, 
and  down  into  the  valley.  The  policemen  scarcely 
looked  up  to  see  them  come. 

Inspector  Egerton  and  Chief  Watusk  faced  each 
other  on  horseback.  The  other  Indians  remained  at  a 
respectful  distance.  Ambrose  mightily  desired  to  hear 
what  was  being  said  on  either  side.  He  learned  later. 

"Watusk!"  cried  the  peppery  little  inspector. 
"What  damn  foolishness  is  this?  Rifle  pits!  Do  you 
think  you're  another  Louis  Riel?" 

Watusk,  glowering  sullenly,  made  no  answer. 

"Have  you  got  Ambrose  Doane  here?"  the  officer 
demanded. 

"Ambrose  Doane  here,"  said  Watusk. 

"I  want  him,"  said  Egerton  crisply.  "I  also  want 
you,  Watusk,  Myengeen,  Tatateecha,  and  three  others 
whose  names  I  can't  pronounce.  I  have  a  clerk  be- 


240  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

longing  to  the  Company  store  who  will  pick  them  out. 

"I've  got  to  send  you  all  out  for  trial  before  the 
river  closes,  so  there's  no  time  to  lose.  We  will  start 
back  to-day.  I  will  leave  half  my  men  here  under 
Sergeant  Plaskett  to  look  after  your  people.  You 
will  instruct  your  people  to  bring  in  all  the  goods 
stolen  from  the  Company  store. 

"Plaskett  will  have  a  list  of  everything  that  was 
taken  and  will  credit  what  is  returned.  The  balance, 
together  with  the  amount  of  damage  done  the  store 
will  be  charged  in  a  lump  against  the  tribe,  and  the 
sum  deducted  pro  rata  from  the  government  annuities 
next  year.  They're  lucky  to  get  off  so  easy." 

"We  get  pay,  too,  for  our  flour  burn  up?"  muttered 
Watusk. 

"That  will  be  investigated  with  the  rest,"  the  in- 
spector said.  "Bring  in  your  people  at  once.  Look 
sharp !  There's  not  an  hour  to  lose !" 

Watusk  made  no  move.  The  fiery  spirit  he  had 
swallowed  was  lending  a  deceitful  warmth  to  his  veins. 
He  began  to  feel  like  a  hero.  His  eyes  narrowed  and 
glittered.  "Suppose  I  don'  do  it?"  he  muttered. 

The  inspector's  white  eyebrows  went  up.  "Then  I 
will  go  and  take  the  men  I  want,"  he  said  coolly. 

"You  dead  before  you  gone  far,"  said  Watusk. 
He  swept  his  arm  dramatically  around  the  hills.  "I 
got  five  hundred  Winchesters  point  at  your  red  coats !" 
he  cried.  "When  I  give  signal  they  speak  together!" 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  the  inspector.  "You've  only 
a  few  over  two  hundred  able  men  in  your  tribe." 

"Two  hundred  is  plenty,"  said  Watusk  unabashed. 
"That  is  ten  bullets  for  every  man  of  yours.  They  are 
all  around  you.  You  cannot  go  forward  or  back. 
Ask  Company  man  if  Kakisas  shoot  straight!" 

Inspector  Egerton's  answer  was  a  hearty  laugh. 
"Capital!"  he  cried. 

"Laugh!"  cried  Watusk  furiously.    "You  no  harder 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  241 

than  ot'er  man.  You  got  no  medicine  to  stop  those 
bullets  you  sell  us !  No  ?  If  bullets  go  t'rough  jour 
red  coats  you  die  lak  ot'er  men  I  guess !" 

"Certainly!"  cried  the  old  soldier  with  a  flash  of 
his  blue  eyes.  "That's  our  business.  But  it  won't  do 
you  any  good.  We're  but  the  outposts  of  a  mighty 
power  that  encircles  the  world.  If  you  defy  that 
power  you'll  be  wiped  out  like  the  prairie  grass  in  a 
fire." 

"Huh!"  cried  Watusk.  "White  man's  bluff!  White 
man  always  talk  big  about  the  power  behind  him.  I 
lak  see  that  power,  me!  I  will  show  the  red  people 
you  no  better  than  them! 

"When  it  was  known  Watusk  has  beat  the  police, 
as  far  as  the  northern  ocean  they  will  take  arms  and 
drive  the  white  men  out  of  their  country !  I  have  sent 
out  my  messengers !" 

"What  do  you  expect  me  to  say  to  that?"  inquired 
the  officer  quizzically. 

"Tell  you  men  lay  their  guns  on  the  ground,"  said 
Watusk.  "They  my  prisoners.  I  treat  them  kind." 

Inspector  Egerton  laughed  until  his  little  paunch 
shook.  "Come,"  he  said  good-naturedly,  "I  haven't 
got  time  to  exchange  heroics  with  you.  Run  along 
and  bring  in  your  people.  I'll  give  you  half  an  hour." 

The  inspector  drew  out  his  watch,  and  took  note  of 
the  time.  He  then  turned  to  address  his  sergeant, 
leaving  Watusk  in  mid  air,  so  to  speak. 

There  was  nothing  for  the  Indian  leader  to  do  but 
wheel  his  horse  and  ride  back  up  the  hill  with  what 
dignity  he  could  muster.  His  men  fell  in  behind  him. 

They  had  understood  nothing  of  what  was  said,  of 
course,  but  the  byplay  was  sufficiently  intelligible.  The 
whole  party  was  crestfallen. 

Observing  this  air  on  their  return  to  the  rifle  pit, 
Ambrose's  eye  brightened.  Watusk  seeing  the  keen, 
questioning  eye,  announced  with  dignity. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"We  won.     The  red-coats  surrendered." 

This  was  so  palpably  a  falsehood  Ambrose  could 
well  afford  to  smile  broadly  behind  his  gag. 

The  half  hour  that  then  followed  seemed  like  half  a 
day  to  those  who  watched.  Ambrose,  ignorant  of 
what  had  occurred,  could  only  guess  the  reason  of 
the  armistice. 

The  police  had  taken  down  their  white  flag.  He 
could  see  the  inspector  glance  at  his  watch  from  time 
to  time.  Wondering  messengers  came  from  the  other 
pits  presumably  to  find  out  the  reason  of  the  inaction, 
to  whom  Watusk  returned  evasive  replies. 

Bound  and  gagged  as  he  was,  it  was  anything  but 
an  easy  time  for  Ambrose.  He  had  the  poor  satis- 
faction of  seeing  that  Watusk  was  more  uneasy  than 
himself. 

To  a  discerning  eye  the  Indian  leader  was  suffering 
visible  torments.  Egerton,  the  wily  old  Indian  fighter, 
knew  his  man. 

If  he  had  made  the  slightest  move  to  provoke  a 
conflict,  raged,  threatened,  fired  a  gun,  the  savage 
nature  would  instantly  have  reacted,  and  it  would  have 
all  been  over  in  a  few  moments.  But  to  laugh  and 
light  a  cigarette!  Watusk  was  rendered  impotent  by 
a  morale  beyond  his  comprehension. 

The  longest  half  hour  has  only  thirty  minutes.  In- 
spector Egerton  looked  at  his  watch  for  the  last  time 
and  spoke  to  his  men.  The  policemen  caught  their 
horses,  and  without  any  appearance  of  haste,  tight- 
ened girths  and  mounted. 

They  commenced  to  move  slowly  through  the  grass 
in  the  track  of  Watusk's  party,  spreading  out  wide  in 
open  formation.  The  inspector  was  in  the  center  of 
the  line.  He  carried  no  arms.  His  men  were  still 
joking  and  laughing. 

They  commenced  to  mount  the  hill,  walking  their 
horses,  and  sitting  loosely  in  their  saddles.  Each 
trooper  had  his  reins  in  one  hand,  his  rifle  barrel  in 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  243 

the  other,  with  the  butt  of  the  weapon  resting  on  his 
thigh. 

They  were  coming  straight  for  the  rifle  pit;  no 
doubt  they  had  marked  the  bushes  masking  it.  Am- 
brose saw  that  they  were  young  men,  slim-waisted 
and  graceful.  The  one  on  the  right  end  had  lost  his 
hat  through  some  accident.  He  had  fair  hair  that 
caught  the  sun. 

This  was  the  critical  moment.  The  fate  of  the  nine- 
teen boys  and  their  white-haired  leader  hung  by  a 
hair.  Ambrose  held  his  breath  under  the  gag.  A  cry, 
p.n  untoward  movement  would  have  caused  an  imme- 
diate slaughter. 

The  Indians'  eyes  glittered,  their  teeth  showed,  they 
fingered  their  rifles.  A  single  word  from  their  leader 
v.ould  have  sufficed.  Watusk  longed  to  speak  it,  and 
could  not.  The  sweat  was  running  down  his  yellow- 
gray  face. 

One  of  the  horses  stumbled.  The  Indians  with  mut- 
tered exclamations  flung  up  their  guns.  Ambrose 
thought  it  was  all  over. 

But  at  that  moment  by  the  grace  of  God,  one  of 
the  troopers  made  a  good  joke,  and  a  hearty  laugh 
rang  along  the  line.  The  Indians  lowered  their  guns 
and  stared  with  bulging  eyes.  They  could  not  fight 
supermen  like  these. 

Watusk,  with  the  groan  of  total  collapse,  dropped 
his  gun  on  the  ground,  and  turned  to  escape  by  the 
path  out  of  the  pit. 

Instantly  there  was  pandemonium  in  the  narrow 
place.  Some  tried  to  escape  with  their  leader;  others 
blocked  the  way.  Ambrose  saw  Watusk  seized  and 
flung  on  the  ground.  One  spat  in  his  face.  He  lay 
where  he  had  fallen. 

Thus  ended  the  Kakisa  rebellion.  The  Indians  had 
no  further  thought  of  resistance.  The  butts  of  their 
guns  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  they  stared  at  the 
oncoming  troopers  with  characteristic  apathy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

ANOTHER    CHANGE    OF    JAILERS. 

THE  police  advanced  to  within  twenty-five  yards 
and,  drawing  closer  together,  halted. 

"Watusk,  come  out  of  that!"  barked  the  inspector 
in  his  parade  ground  voice. 

Ambrose  had  his  first  look  at  him.  He  was  a  little 
man,  trigly  built,  with  a  bullet  head  under  a  closely 
cropped  thatch  of  white.  A  heavy  white  mustache 
bisected  his  florid  face. 

No  one  could  have  mistaken  him  in  any  dress,  for 
aught  but  a  soldier.  He  did  not  look  as  if  patience 
and  fair-mindedness  were  included  among  his  virtues, 
which  was  unfortunate  for  Ambrose  as  the  event 
proved. 

As  Watusk  gave  no  sign  of  stirring,  he  was  seized 
by  many  hands  and  boosted  over  the  edge  of  the  pit. 
He  rolled  over,  knocking  down  some  of  the  bushes  and 
finally  rose  to  his  feet,  standing  with  wretched,  hang- 
dog mien. 

His  appearance,  with  the  frock  coat  all  rubbed  with 
earth  and  the  military  gear  hanging  askew,  caused  the 
troopers  to  shout  with  laughter.  Here  was  a  change 
from  the  fire-eater  of  half  an  hour  before. 

"Ho!"  cried  Inspector  Egerton.  "The  conqueror 
of  the  English!" 

Watusk  drew  closer  and  began  to  whine  insinuat- 
ingly. "I  sorry  I  mak'  that  talk,  me.  I  can'  help  it 
at  all.  Ambrose  Doane  tell  me  that.  He  put  his 
medicine  on  me.  I  sick." 

Ambrose  attempted  to  cry  out  in  his  angry  aston- 
ishment, but  only  a  muffled  groan  issued  through  the 

244 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  245 

handkerchief.  He  was  not  visible  to  the  troopers 
where  he  stood  in  the  corner,  and  he  could  not  move. 

"Is  Ambrose  Doane  there?"  demanded  the  officer. 

Watusk  quickly  turned  and  spoke  a  sentence  in 
Kakisa.  Ambrose  saw  the  look  of  craft  in  his  yellow 
face.  One  of  the  men  who  guarded  Ambrose  drew 
his  knife  and  cut  his  bonds  and  untied  the  handker- 
chief. 

Ambrose's  heart  beat  high.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  that  they  could  believe  the  wretched  liar!  He 
drew  himself  over  the  edge  of  the  pit,  helped  by  those 
behind. 

"Hello !"  he  cried. 

There  was  no  answering  greeting.  The  faces  before 
him  were  as  grim  as  stone.  For  Watusk  they  had  a 
kind  of  good-humored  contempt — for  him  a  cold  and 
deadly  scorn. 

Evidently  their  minds  were  made  up  in  advance.  The 
inspector  twirled  his  mustache  and  regarded  him  with 
a  hard,  speculative  eye. 

Ambrose's  heart  failed  him  terribly.  These  were 
men  that  he  admired.  " What's  the  matter?"  he  cried. 
"Do  you  believe  this  liar?  I  have  been  a  prisoner 
up  to  this  moment — bound  hand  and  foot  and  gagged. 
The  marks  are  still  on  my  wrists!" 

Inspector  Egerton  did  not  look  at  his  wrists.  "H-m ! 
Not  bad!"  he  said  grimly.  "You're  a  cool  hand,  my 
man !" 

The  blood  rushed  to  Ambrose's  face.  "For  God's 
sake,  will  you  tell  me  what  I  could  hope  to  gain  by 
stirring  up  the  Indians?"  he  demanded. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  the  inspector.  "You  were 
ready  to  grasp  at  any  straw,  I  expect." 

In  the  face  of  injustice  so  determined,  it  was  only 
humiliating  for  Ambrose  to  attempt  to  defend  himself, 
His  face  hardened.  He  set  his  jaw  and  shrugged  cal- 
lously. 


246  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"You're  under  arrest,"  said  the  inspector. 

"On  what  charge?"  Ambrose  sullenly  demanded. 

**A  mere  trifle,"  said  the  inspector  ironically.  "Un- 
lawful entry,  conspiracy,  burglary,  and  assault  with 
intent  to  kill.  To  which  we  shall  probably  add  trea- 
son." 

Ambrose  made  no  answer.  In  his  heart  he  had  hoped 
that  the  empty  charges  at  Fort  Enterprise  had  fallen 
of  their  own  weight  before  this. 

The  inspector  turned  his  attention  back  to  Watusk. 
"Deliver  over  your  arsenal!"  he  said. 

Watusk  meekly  unfastened  his  various  belts  and 
handed  them  to  a  trooper.  Having  observed  Ambrose's 
rebuff,  his  face  had  become  smooth  and  inscrutable 
again. 

By  this  time  the  Indians  had  issued  out  of  the  pit  by 
the  rear  and  were  standing  in  an  uncertain  group  a 
little  way  off. 

"Order  them  to  pile  their  weapons  on  the  ground," 
commanded  the  inspector.  "Let  each  man  make  a 
mark  upon  the  stock  of  his  rifle  so  that  he  can  identify 
it  when  it  is  returned.  Send  messengers  to  the  other 
pits  with  orders  for  all  the  men  to  bring  their  guns 
here." 

Watusk  was  eager  to  obey  him. 

"Where  is  your  camp?"  the  inspector  asked  him. 

Watusk  pointed.     "One  mile,"  he  said. 

"After  we  get  the  guns  you  shall  go  there  with  me 
and  we  will  examine  the  people." 

Ambrose,  hearing  this,  turned  to  the  trooper  who 
was  nearest.  "If  you  go  to  the  camp  get  me  my  dog, 
will  you?"  he  asked  sullenly. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  the  inspector. 

Ambrose  explained  where  his  dog  was  to  be  found. 
They  looked  at  him  curiously  as  if  surprised  that  such 
a  desperate  criminal  should  be  solicitous  about  a  dog. 
The  trooper  promised  to  bring  him. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  247 

Inspector  Egerton  continued  to  issue  his  orders. 
"Bafford,  ride  back  and  bring  up  the  baggage.  Have 
my  tent  pitched  in  the  middle  of  the  valley  below. 
Emslie" — this  was  the  yellow-haired  youth — "I  shall 
hold  you  responsible  for  the  white  prisoner.  You 
needn't  handcuff  him.  He  couldn't  escape  if  he  wished 
to." 

Ambrose  had  to  undergo  the  humiliation  of  walking 
down  hill  at  the  stirrup  of  the  young  trooper's  horse. 
Emslie  showed  a  less  hard  face  than  some  of  the  others. 

Ambrose  sought  to  establish  relations  with  him  by 
asking  for  tobacco.  He  was  hungry  for  speech  with 
his  own  kind.  But  the  look  of  cold  contempt  with  which 
his  request  was  granted  precluded  any  further  ad- 
vances. 

Upon  Inspector  Egerton's  return  from  the  Kakisa 
village  a  meal  was  served.  Afterward  the  inspector 
sat  at  his  folding-table  inside  his  tent  and  held  his 
investigations. 

There  was  a  deal  of  business  to  be  transacted.  In 
due  course  Ambrose  was  brought  before  him.  Watusk, 
whose  services  were  in  continual  demand  as  interpreter, 
was  present,  and  several  troopers. 

"It  is  customary  to  ask  a  prisoner  upon  arrest  if 
he  has  anything  to  say  for  himself,"  said  the  inspector. 
"I  must  warn  you  that  anything  you  say  may  be  used 
against  you." 

Ambrose  felt  their  animosity  like  a  wall  around  him. 
"What's  the  use?"  he  said  sullenly.  "You've  already 
convicted  me  in  your  own  mind." 

"What  I  think  of  your  case  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it,"  said  the  inspector  coldly.  "You  will  be  brought 
before  competent  judges." 

"There  is  something  I  want  to  say,"  said  Ambrose, 
looking  at  Watusk.  "But  not  before  that  mongrel." 

The  inspector  spoke  to  a  trooper,  and  Watusk  was 
led  outside.  "Now,  then!"  he  said  to  Ambrose. 


248  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Watusk  means  to  turn  king's  evidence,"  said  Am- 
brose. "He  will  make  up  what  story  he  pleases,  think- 
ing that  none  of  the  Kakisas  can  testify  except  through 
him — or  through  Gordon  Strange,  who  is  his  friend." 

"Are  you  accusing  Strange  now?"  interrupted  the 
inspector.  "Let  me  tell  you:  Strange  is  pretty  highly 
thought  of  back  at  the  fort." 

"No  doubt!'*  said  Ambrose  with  a  shrug.  "There 
is  one  member  of  the  tribe  beside  Watusk  who  can 
speak  English,"  he  went  on.  "In  the  interest  of  justice 
I  ask  you  to  find  her." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Her  name  is  Nesis.  She  is  the  youngest  of  the  four 
wives  of  Watusk."  Ambrose  told  her  story  briefly 
and  baldly. 

"So !"  said  the  inspector  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "Ac- 
cording to  your  own  story  you  eloped  with  Watusk's 
wife.  Upon  my  word!  Do  you  expect  a  jury  to  at- 
tach any  weight  to  her  evidence?" 

"I  take  my  chance  of  that,"  said  Ambrose*  "If 
you  want  to  get  at  the  truth  you  must  find  her." 

"I'll  have  a  search  made  at  once." 

"Watch  Watusk,"  warned  Ambrose.  "He'll  stop  at 
nothing  to  keep  her  evidence  out  of  court — not  even 
murder." 

The  inspector  smiled  in  an  annoyed  way.  Ambrose's 
attitude  did  not  agree  with  his  preconceptions. 

However,  he  immediately  rode  back  to  the  Kakisa 
village  with  three  troopers.  In  an  hour  he  sent  one  of 
the  men  back  for  Watusk.  In  two  hours  they  all 
returned — without  Nesis. 

Ambrose's  heart  sank  like  a  stone.  By  instinct  he 
strove  to  conceal  his  discouragement  from  his  enemies 
under  a  nonchalant  air. 

The  inspector,  feeling  that  some  explanation  was  due 
to  Ambrose,  had  him  brought  to  his  tent  again. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  249 

"I  have  searched,"  he  said.  "I  can  find  no  trace 
of  any  such  person  as  you  describe." 

"Naturally,  not  with  Watusk's  help,"  said  Ambrose 
bitterly. 

The  inspector  bit  his  lip.  According  to  his  lights 
he  was  honestly  trying  to  be  fair  to  the  prisoner. 

"First  I  searched  the  teepees  myself,"  he  conde- 
scended to  explain.  "It  appears  there  are  several 
girls  by  that  name.  When  I  called  on  Watusk  I  had 
him  watched  and  checked." 

"The  Indians  were  primed  in  advance,"  said  Am- 
brose. "Watusk  can  pull  wool  over  your  eyes." 

"Silence !"  cried  the  exasperated  inspector.  "Your 
story  is  preposterous  anyway.  Pure  romance.  Never- 
theless I  have  instructed  Sergeant  Plaskett  to  continue 
the  search.  If  any  such  girl  should  be  found,  which 
would  surprise  me,  she  will  be  sent  out.  You  can  go." 

Inspector  Egerton  with  half  his  force  started  back 
for  the  Kakisa  River  en  route  to  Fort  Enterprise  that, 
same  afternoon.  They  convoyed  seven  prisoners,  and 
five  additional  members  of  the  Kakisa  tribe,  whom 
Watusk  had  indicated  would  be  material  witnesses. 

Ambrose  watched  Watusk  ingratiating  himself  with 
bitterness  at  his  heart.  The  Indian  ex-leader's  air  of 
penitent  eagerness  to  atone  for  past  misdeeds  was  ad- 
mirable. 

They  rode  hard,  and  crossed  the  river  before  making 
their  first  camp.  The  next  day  they  covered  sixty 
miles,  reaching  a  station  established  by  Inspector 
Egerton  on  the  way  over,  where  they  found  fresh 
horses.  At  the  end  of  the  third  day  they  camped  within 
thirty  miles  of  Fort  Enterprise. 

Ambrose  could  never  afterward  think  of  these  days 
without  an  inward  shudder.  Pain  angered  him.  Out- 
wardly he  looked  the  hard  and  reckless  character 
they  thought  him,  because  his  sensibilities  were  raw 
and  quivering. 


250  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  dog  knew.  He  was  free  to  move  about ;  he  was 
well-fed  and  freshly  clothed,  and  the  policemen  acted 
toward  him  with  a  disinterestedness  so  scrupulous  it 
was  almost  like  kindness. 

Nevertheless  Ambrose  felt  their  belief  in  his  guilt 
like  a  hunchback  feels  the  difference  in  the  world's 
glance.  In  his  moments  of  blackest  discouragement 
the  suggestion  flitted  oddly  through  his  brain  that 
maybe  he  was  guilty  of  all  these  preposterous  crimes. 

If  this  was  not  enough,  once  he  heard  them  dis- 
cussing his  case.  He  was  lying  in  a  tent,  and  there 
was  a  little  group  of  troopers  at  the  door,  smoking. 
They  thought  he  was  asleep. 

He  heard  Emslie  say:  "Doane  looks  like  a  decent- 
enough  head,  doesn't  he?  Shows  you  never  can  tell." 

"The  worst  criminals  are  always  a  decent-looking 
sort,"  said  another.  "That's  why  they're  dangerous." 

"By  gad !"  said  a  third,  "when  you  think  of  all  he's 
responsible  for,  even  if  he  didn't  do  it  with  his  own 
hands — arson,  robbery,  murder — think  what  that  girl 
at  Enterprise  has  been  through!  By  gad!  hanging's 
too  good  for  him !" 

"Any  man  that  would  lower  himself  to  rouse  the 
passions  of  the  Indians  against  his  own  kind — he 
isn't  worth  the  name  of  white  man!" 

"The  worst  of  it  is  nothing  you  can  do  to  Doane 
will  repair  the  damage.  He's  put  back  the  white  man's 
work  in  this  country  twenty  years !" 

Ambrose  rolled  over  and  covered  his  head  with  his 
arms.  These  were  honest  men  who  spoke,  men  he  would 
have  chosen  for  friends. 

Next  morning  he  showed  no  sign,  except  perhaps 
an  added  sullenness.  Nevertheless  he  had  received  a 
hurt  that  would  never  altogether  heal  while  he  lived. 

No  matter  how  swift  rehabilitation  might  follow, 
after  an  experience  like  this  a  man  could  never  have 
the  same  frank  confidence  in  the  power  of  truth. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  251 

It  was  a  point  of  pride  with  him  to  be  a  model  pris- 
oner. He  gave  as  little  trouble  as  possible,  and  during 
the  whole  journey  made  but  one  request. 

That  was  at  the  last  spell  before  reaching  the  fort. 
He  asked  for  a  razor.  Colina  might  scorn  him  like 
the  others,  but  she  should  not  see  him  looking  like 
a  tramp. 

Immediately  upon  their  arrival  at  Fort  Enterprise, 
John  Gaviller  in  his  capacity  as  Justice  of  the  Peace 
held  a  hearing  in  the  police  room  in  the  quarters. 

Caviller's  health  was  largely  restored,  but  the  old 
assurance  was  lacking,  perhaps  he  would  never  be  quite 
the  same  man  again.  He  was  prompted  by  Gordon 
Strange.  Colina  was  not  present.  Ambrose  had  not 
seen  her  upon  landing. 

The  hearing  was  merely  a  perfunctory  affair.  All 
the  prisoners  were  remanded  to  Prince  George  for 
trial. 

Ambrose  gathered  from  the  talk  that  reached  his 
ears  that  it  was  intended  to  send  everybody,  prisoners, 
and  witnesses,  including  Gordon  Strange,  Gaviller  and 
Colina  up  the  river  next  day  in  the  launch  and  a  scow. 

To  travel  seven  days  in  her  sight,  a  prisoner — he 
wondered  if  there  were  any  dregs  of  bitterness  remain- 
ing in  the  cup  after  this ! 

They  gave  Ambrose  the  jail  to  himself.  This  was 
a  little  log-shack  behind  the  quarters  with  iron-bound 
door  and  barred  window. 

To  him  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  came  In- 
spector Egerton  moved  by  his  sense  of  duty.  He  offi- 
cially informed  Ambrose  that  he  was  to  be  taken  up  the 
river  next  morning. 

"Is  there  anything  you  want?"  he  asked  stiffly. 

"I  left  a  friend  here,"  Ambrose  said  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "I'd  like  to  see  him  if  he's  willing  to  come." 

"Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Simon  Grampierre." 


252  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

The  inspector  looked  grave.  "He's  under  arrest," 
he  said.  "I  can't  let  you  communicate." 

"Can  I  see  his  son  then,  Germain  Grampierre?" 

"Sorry.    He's  on  parole." 

Ambrose  had  been  counting  on  this  more  than  he 
knew,  to  talk  with  some  man,  even  a  breed,  who  be- 
lieved in  him.  It  is  a  necessity  of  our  natures  under 
trial.  To  deny  it  was  like  robbing  him  of  his  last 
hope.  Some  power  of  endurance  suddenly  snapped 
within  him. 

"What  do  you  come  here  for?"  he  cried  in  a  break- 
ing voice.  "To  torture  me?  Must  I  be  surrounded 
day  and  night  only  by  those  who  think  me  a  murderer! 
For  God's  sake  get  the  thing  over  with!  Take  me  to 
town  and  hang  me  if  that's  what  you  want !  A  month 
of  this  and  I'd  be  a  gibbering  idiot  anyway!" 

The  ring  of  honest  pain  in  this  aroused  dim  com- 
punctions in  the  admirable  little  colonel.  He  twisted 
his  big  mustache  uncomfortably.  "I'm  sure  I've  done 
what  I  could  for  you,"  he  said. 

"Everything  except  let  me  alone,"  cried  Ambrose. 
"For  God's  sake  go  away  and  let  me  be!"  He  flung 
himself  face  downward  on  his  cot. 

Inspector  Egerton  withdrew  stiffly. 

Ambrose  lay  with  his  head  in  his  arms,  and  let  his 
shaking  nerves  quiet  down.  A  fit  of  the  blackest  de- 
spair succeeded.  To  his  other  troubles  he  now  added 
hot  shame — that  he  had  broken  down  before  his  enemy. 

It  seemed  to  him  in  the  retrospect  that  he  had 
raved  like  a  guilty  man.  He  foresaw  weeks  and  weeks 
of  this  yet  to  come  with  fresh  humiliations  daily  and 
added  pain ;  if  he  gave  way  already  what  would  become 
of  him  in  the  end?  How  could  he  hope  to  keep  his 
manhood?  A  blank  terror  faced  him. 

The  sound  of  the  key  in  the  lock  brought  him  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  None  of  them  should  see  him  weaken 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  253 

again!  With  trembling  hands  he  put  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  lighted  it  nonchalantly. 

It  was  Emslie  with  his  supper. 

"Playing  waiter,  eh?"  drawled  Ambrose.  "You  fel- 
lows have  to  be  everything  from  grooms  to  chamber- 
maids, don't  you?" 

Young  Emslie  stared,  and  grew  red.  "What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?"  he  demanded. 

"A  man  must  have  a  little  entertainment,"  said 
Ambrose.  "I'm  forced  to  get  it  out  of  you.  You  don't 
know  how  funny  you  are,  Emslie." 

"You'd  best  be  civil!"  growled  the  policeman. 

"Why?"  drawled  out  Ambrose.  "You've  got  to 
keep  a  hold  on  yourself  whatever  I  say  to  you.  It's 
regulations.  Man  to  man  I  could  lick  you  with  ease!" 

"By  gad!"  began  Emslie.  Very  red  in  the  face,  he 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  went  out  slamming  the  door. 

Ambrose  laughed,  and  felt  a  little  better.  Only  by 
allowing  his  bitter  pain  some  such  outlet  was  he  able 
to  endure  it. 

Disregarding  the  supper,  he  strode  up  and  down 
his  prison,  planning  in  his  despair  how  he  would  harden 
himself  to  steel.  No  longer  would  he  suffer  in  silence. 
To  the  last  hour  he'd  swagger  and  jeer. 

These  red-coats  were  stiff-necked  and  dull-witted; 
he  could  have  rare  fun  with  them. 

He  saw  himself  in  the  court-room  keeping  the  crowd 
in  a  roar  with  his  outrageous  gibes.  And  if  at  the 
last  he  swung — he'd  step  off  with  a  jest  that  would 
live  in  history! 

The  key  turned  in  the  lock  again.  He  swung  around 
ready  with  an  insult  for  his  jailer. 

Colina  stood  in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE  JAIL  VISITOB. 

THE  light  was  behind  Colina,  and  Ambrose  could 
not  at  first  read  her  expression.  There  was  some- 
thing changed  in  her  aspect ;  her  chin  was  not  carried 
so  high. 

She  was  wearing  a  plain  blue  linen  dress,  and  her 
hair  was  done  low  over  her  ears.  Colina  was  one  of 
the  women  who  unconsciously  dress  to  suit  their  moods. 
She  looked  different  now,  but  she  was  indisputably 
Colina. 

The  sight  of  her  dear  shape  caused  him  the  same 
old  shock  of  astonishment.  All  the  blood  seemed  to 
forsake  his  heart;  he  put  a  hand  against  the  wall  be- 
hind him  for  support. 

He  presently  distinguished  changes  in  her  face  also. 
It  bore  the  marks  of  sleeplessness  and  suffering.  Pride 
still  made  her  eyes  reticent  and  cold,  but  the  old  out- 
rageous arrogance  was  gone. 

In  the  wave  of  tenderness  for  her  that  engulfed 
him  he  clean  forgot  the  self-pleasing  defiance  he  had 
imagined  for  himself,  forgot  his  desperate  situation, 
forgot  everything  but  her. 

He  was  unable  to  speak,  and  Colina  did  not  imme- 
diately offer  to.  She  stood  a  step  inside  the  door,  with 
her  hand  on  the  back  of  the  one  chair  the  room  con- 
tained. Her  eyes  were  cast  down.  It  was  Emslie  who 
broke  the  silence. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  stay?"  he  respectfully  asked 
Colina. 

She  raised  grave  eyes  to  Ambrose.  "Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you?"  she  asked  evenly. 

254 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  255 

"Yes,"  said  Ambrose  breathlessly. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  said  to  Emslie: 
"Please  wait  outside." 

Ambrose's  heart  leaped  up.  No  sooner  had  the  door 
closed  behind  Emslie  than,  forgetting  everything,  it 
burst  its  bonds.  "Colina!  How  good  of  you  to  come! 
It  makes  me  so  happy  to  see  you !  If  you  knew  how 
I  had  hungered  and  thirsted  for  a  sight  of  you !  How 
charming  you  look  in  that  dress !  Your  hair  is  done 
differently,  too.  I  swear  it  is  like  the  sun  shining  in 
here.  You  look  tired.  Sit  down.  Have  some  tea. 
What  a  fool  I  am!  You  don't  want  to  eat  in  a  jail, 
do  you?" 

Her  eyes  widened  with  amazement  at  his  outburst* 
She  shrank  from  him. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  touch 
you — a  jailbird!  I'm  not  fooling  myself.  I  know  how 
you  feel  toward  me.  I  can't  help  it.  If  you  knew  how 
I  had  been  bottled  up !  I  must  speak  to  some  one 
or  go  clean  off  my  head.  It  makes  me  forget  just  to 
see  you.  Ah,  it  was  good  of  you  to  come !" 

"I  am  visiting  all  the  prisoners,"  Colina  was  care- 
ful to  explain.  "And  getting  them  what  they  need 
for  the  journey  to-morrow." 

It  pulled  him  up  short.  He  glanced  at  her  with  art 
odd  smile,  tender,  bitter,  and  grim.  "Charity!"  he 
murmured.  "Thanks,  I  have  plenty  of  warm  clothes, 
and  so  forth." 

Colina  bit  her  lip.  There  was  a  silence.  He  gazed 
at  her  hungrily.  She  was  so  dear  to  him  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  be  otherwise  than  tender. 

"Just  the  same,  it  was  mighty  good  of  you  to  come," 
he  said. 

"You  said  there  was  something  I  could  do  for  you,** 
she  murmured. 

"Please  sit  down.." 

She  did  so. 


256  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"I  don't  want  to  beg  any  personal  favors,"  he  said* 
"There  is  something  you  might  do  for  the  sake  of 
justice." 

"Never  mind  that,"  she  said.     "What  is  it?" 

"Let  me  have  a  little  pride,  too,"  he  said.  "It  isn't 
easy  to  ask  favors  of  your  enemies.  I  am  surrounded 
by  those  who  hate  me  and  believe  me  guilty.  Natur- 
ally, I  stand  as  much  chance  of  a  fair  trial  as  a  spy 
in  wartime.  I'm  just  beginning  to  understand  that. 
At  first  I  thought  as  long  as  one's  conscience  was  clear 
nothing  could  happen." 

"What  is  it  I  can  do?"  she  asked  again. 

"I  am  taking  for  granted  you  would  like  to  see  me 
get  off,"  Ambrose  went  on.  "Admitting  that — that 
the  old  feeling  is  dead  and  all  that — still  it  can't  be 
exactly  pleasant  for  you  to  feel  that  you  once  felt  that 
way  toward  a  murderer  and  a  traitor — 
i  "Please,  please — "  murmured  Colina. 

"You  see  you  have  a  motive  for  helping  me,"  Am- 
brose insisted.  "I  thought  first  of  Simon  Grampierre. 
He's  under  arrest.  Then  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see 
Germain,  his  son.  The  inspector  wouldn't  have  it.  I 
gave  up  hope  after  that.  But  the  sight  of  you  makes 
me  want  to  defend  myself  still.  I  thought  maybe  you 
would  have  a  note  carried  to  Germain  for  me." 

"Certainly,"  she  said. 

"You  shall  read  it,"  he  said  eagerly,  "so  you  can 
satisfy  yourself  there's  nothing  treasonable." 

She  made  a  deprecating  gesture. 

"I'll  write  it  at  once,"  he  said.  He  carried  the  tray 
to  the  bed.  Colina  gave  him  the  chair. 

"They  let  me  have  writing  materials,"  Ambrose 
went  on  with  a  rueful  smile.  "I  think  they  hope  I 
may  write  out  a  confession  some  night." 

To  Germain  Grampierre  he  wrote  a  plain,  brief  ac- 
count of  Nesis,  and  made  clear  what  a  desperate  need 
he  had  of  finding  her. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  257 

"Will  you  read  it?"  he  asked  Colina. 

She  shook  her  head.  He  handed  it  to  her  unsealed, 
and  she  thrust  it  in  her  dress. 

"I'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said,  trying 
to  keep  up  the  reasonable  air.  "How  pretty  your  hair 
looks  that  way!"  he  added  inconsequentially.  The 
words  were  surprised  out  of  him. 

She  turned  abruptly.  It  was  beginning  to  be  dark 
in  the  shack,  and  he  could  no  longer  see  into  her  face. 

Her  movement  was  too  much  for  his  self-control. 
"Ah,  must  you  go?"  he  cried  sharply.  "Another  min- 
ute or  two!  It  will  be  dreadful  here  after  you've 
gone !" 

"What's  the  use?"  she  whispered. 

"True,"  he  said  harshly.  "What's  the  use?"  He 
turned  his  back  on  her.  "Good  night,  and  thank  you." 

She  lingered,  hand  upon  the  doorlatch.  "Isn't  there 
— isn't  there  something  else  I  can  do?"  she  asked. 

"No,  thank  you." 

Still  she  stayed.  "You  haven't  touched  your  sup- 
per," she  said  in  a  small  voice.  "Mayn't  I — send  you 
something  from  the  house?" 

"No !"  he  cried  swiftly.  "Not  your  pity — nor  your 
charity,  neither!" 

Colina  fumbled  weakly  with  the  latch — and  her 
hand  dropped  from  it. 

"Why  don't  you  go?"  he  cried  sharply.  "I  can't 
stand  it.  I  know  you  hate  me.  I  tell  myself  that 
every  minute.  Be  honest  and  show  you  hate  me,  not 
act  sorry!" 

"I  do  not  hate  you,"  she  whispered. 

He  faced  her  with  a  kind  of  terror  in  his  eyes. 
"For  God's  sake,  go !"  he  cried.  "You're  building  up 
a  hope  in  me — it  will  kill  me  if  it  comes  to  nothing! 
I  can't  stand  any  more.  Go!" 

His  amazed  eyes  beheld  her  come  falteringly  toward 
him,  reaching  out  her  hands. 


258  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Ambrose — I — I  can't!"  she  whispered. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

Colina  broke  into  a  little  tempest  of  weeping,  and 
clung  to  him  like  a  child.  He  held  her  close,  stroking 
her  hair  and  murmuring  clumsy,  broken  phrases  of 
comfort. 

"Don't !  My  dear  love,  don't  grieve  so !  It's  all  right 
now.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  hurt." 

"I  love  you !"  she  sobbed.  "I  have  never  stopped 
loving  you !  It  was  something  outside  of  me  that  per- 
suaded me  to  hate  you.  I've  been  living  in  a  hell  since 
that  night !  And  to  find  you  like  this !  Nothing  to  eat 
but  bread  and  salt  pork !  Every  word  you  said  was 
like  a  knife  in  my  breast.  And  not  a  single  word  of 
reproach !" 

"There!"  he  said,  trying  to  laugh.  "You  didn't 
put  me  here." 

She  finally  lifted  a  tear-stained  face.  Clinging  to 
his  shoulders  and  searching  his  eyes,  she  said :  "Swear 
to  me  that  you  are  innocent,  and  I'll  never  have  an- 
other doubt." 

He  shook  his  head.  "No  more  swearing!"  he  said. 
"If  you  let  yourself  be  persuaded  by  the  sound  of  the 
words,  as  soon  as  you  left  me  and  heard  the  others 
you'd  doubt  me  again.  It's  got  to  come  from  the  in- 
side. Words  don't  signify." 

Colina  hung  her  head.  "You're  right,"  she  said  in 
a  humbled  voice.  "I  guess  I  just  wanted  an  excuse 
to  save  my  pride.  I  do  believe  in  you — with  my  whole 
heart.  I  never  really  doubted  you — I  was  ashamed, 
afraid,  I  don't  know  what.  I  was  a  coward.  But  I  suf- 
fered for  it — every  night.  Do  you  despise  me?" 

He  laughed  from  a  light  breast. 

"Despise  you?  That's  funny!  It  was  natural.  A 
damnable  combination  of  circumstances.  I  never 
blamed  you." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  259 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  moments.  She  looked 
up  to  find  him  smiling  oddly. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing  much,"  he  said.  "I  was  thinking — hu- 
man beings  are  sort  of  elastic,  aren't  they?  After  all 
I've  been  through  the  last  few  days — you  don't  know! 
— and  then  this — you  dear  one!  It's  a  wonder  the 
shock  didn't  kill  me — but  I  feel  fine!  Just  peace- 
ful. I  don't  care  what  happens  now." 

It  was  Colina's  turn  to  lavish  her  pent-up  tender- 
ness upon  him  then. 

After  a  while  she  disengaged  herself  from  his  arms. 
"They  will  wonder  what  makes  me  stay  so  long," 
she  murmured.  "And  my  eyes  are  red.  Emslie  will 
see  when  I  go  out." 

Ambrose  poured  out  water  in  his  basin.  "Dabble 
your  eyes  in  this,"  he  said.  "When  you're  ready  to 
go  I'll  call  Emslie  in.  Coming  in  from  the  light,  he 
won't  notice  anything.  You  can  slip  out  ahead  of  him." 

Colina  bathed  her  face  as  he  suggested.  Catching 
each  other's  eyes,  they  blushed  and  laughed. 

"We  must  decide  quickly  what  we're  going  to  do," 
she  said  hastily. 

"First  read  that  letter,"  said  Ambrose. 

She  read  it,  leaning  back  against  his  shoulder.  "A 
woman !"  she  said  in  a  changed  voice  and  straightened 
up.  She  read  further.  "She  helped  you  escape!"  Co- 
lina turned  and  faced  him.  "She  believed  in  you,  eh?" 
she  said,  her  lip  curling. 

Ambrose's  heart  sank.  "Now,  Colina — !"  he  began. 
''Why,  she  never  thought  anything  about  it!" 

Colina  consulted  the  letter  again.  "She  ran  away 
with  you !"  she  cried  accusingly. 

"Followed  me,"  corrected  Ambrose. 

"She  was  in  love  with  you!"  Colina's  voice  rang 
bitterly. 

"Are  you  beginning  to  doubt  me  already?"  he  cried, 


260  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

aghast.  "Be  reasonable!  You  know  how  it  is  with 
these  native  girls.  The  sight  of  a  white  man  hypno- 
tizes them.  You  can't  have  lived  here  without  seeing 
it.  Do  you  blame  me  for  that  ?" 

She  paid  no  attention  to  the  question.  Struggling 
to  command  herself,  she  said:  "Answer  me  one  ques- 
tion. It  is  my  right.  Did  you  ever  kiss  her  ?" 

Ambrose  groaned  in  spirit,  and  cast  round  in  his 
mind  how  to  answer. 

"You  hesitate !"  criea  Colina,  suddenly  beside  her- 
self. "You  did!  Ah,  horrible!"  She  violently 
scrubbed  her  own  lips  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 
"A  brown  girl!  A  teepee-dweller!  A  savage!  Ugh! 
That's  what  men  are!" 

An  honest  anger  nerved  Ambrose.  He  roughly 
seized  her  wrists.  "Listen!"  he  commanded  in  a  tone 
that  silenced  her.  "As  I  bade  her  good-by  on  the 
shore  she  asked  me  to.  She  had  just  risked  death  to 
get  me  out,  remember — worse  than  death  perhaps. 
What  should  I  have  done  ?  Answer  me  that !" 

Colina  refused  to  meet  the  question.  Her  assump- 
tion of  indifference  was  very  painful  to  see.  She  was 
not  beautiful  then.  "Don't  ask  me,"  she  said  with  a 
sneer.  "I  suppose  men  understand  such  women.  I 
cannot." 

Ambrose  turned  away  with  a  helpless  gesture.  Co- 
lina moved  haughtily  toward  the  door.  Within  ten 
minutes  their  wonderful  happiness  had  been  born  and 
strangled  again. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  will  want  to  send  my  letter 
now,"  Ambrose  said  with  a  sinking  heart. 

Colina  blushed  with  shame,  but  she  would  not  let 
him  see  it.  "Certainly,"  she  said  coldly.  "What  has 
this  to  do  with  a  question  of  justice?" 

Ambrose,  sore  and  indignant,  would  not  make  any 
more  overtures.  "There's  a  postscript  I  must  add," 
he  said  coldly,  extending  his  hand  for  the  letter. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  261 

"I  cannot  wait  for  you  to  write  it,"  she  said.  "Tell 
me.  I  will  add  it  myself." 

"I  think  it  likely,"  Ambrose  said,  "that  Nesis"— 
Colina  winced  at  the  sound  of  the  name — "has  been 
spirited  away  from  the  Kakisa  village.  There  are 
two  other  villages,  one  on  Buffalo  Lake  and  one  on 
Kakisa  Lake,  about  sixty  miles  up  the  Kakisa  River. 

"They  brought  her  up  the  river  with  me,  so  it  is 
hardly  likely  she  was  sent  down  again  to  Buffalo 
Lake.  I  think  she's  at  Kakisa  Lake,  if  she's  alive." 

Colina  bowed.  "I  will  tell  Germain  Grampierre," 
she  said.  Her  hand  rose  to  the  door. 

Ambrose's  heart  failed  him.  "Ah,  Colina!"  he  cried 
reproachfully  and  imploringly. 

She  slipped  out  without  answering. 

Ambrose  flung  himself  on  his  bed  and  cursed  fate 
again.  He  was  not  experienced  enough  to  realize  that 
this  was  not  necessarily  a  fatal  break. 

All  night  he  tried  to  steel  his  heart  against  fate 
and  against  Colina.  It  was  harder  now.  It  was 
an  utterly  wretched  Ambrose  that  faced  the  dawn. 

While  it  was  still  early  Emslie  passed  him  a  note 
through  the  window.  Ambrose  knew  the  handwriting, 
and  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers.  He  read: 

MY  DEAR  LOVE: 

I  was  hateful.  It  was  the  meanest  kind  of  jealousy. 
I  was  furious  at  her  because  she  helped  you  at  the 
time  when  I  was  on  the  side  of  your  enemies.  I  have 
been  suffering  torments  all  night.  Forgive  me.  I  am 
going  to  find  Nesis  myself.  That  is  the  only  way  I 
can  make  up  for  everything.  I  love  you. 

COLINA. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

COLINA'S  ENTERPRISE. 

UPON  leaving  Ambrose,  Colina  despatched  his  letter 
across  the  river  by  Michel  Trudeau.  She  then  dressed 
for  dinner. 

To-night  was  to  be  an  occasion,  for  beside  Inspector 
Egerton  they  had  Duncan  Seton,  inspector  of  Com- 
pany posts,  and  his  wife. 

The  Setons  had  come  down  with  the  police.  Seton 
was  to  run  the  post  at  Fort  Enterprise  while  John 
Gaviller  and  Gordon  Strange  were  absent  at  the 
trials. 

Colina,  buoyed  up  with  anger,  dressed  with  care. 
She  saw  herself  self-possessed  and  queenly  at  the  foot 
of  her  own  table — a  favorite  picture  of  herself. 

Nevertheless,    the    reaction   was    swiftly    setting   in. 
She  couldn't  help  having  a  generous  heart,  nor  could 
'she  put  away  the  picture  of  Ambrose  and  his  miser- 
able, untasted   supper. 

At  the  last  moment  her  courage  failed  her.  She 
knew  the  conversation  would  have  to  do  solely  with 
the  coming  trials.  She  knew  Inspector  Egerton's  style 
in  dealing  with  Ambrose.  She  could  not  face  it. 

She  sent  down-stairs  the  time-honored  excuse  of 
young  ladies  and,  tearing  off  her  finery,  flung  herself, 
like  Ambrose,  on  her  bed. 

She  passed  a  worse  night  than  he,  for  while  the  man 
accused  fate,  she  had  to  accuse  herself.  Colina  was 
nothing  if  not  whole-hearted;  coward  was  the  gentlest 
of  the  names  she  called  herself. 

262 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  263 

More  than  once  she  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  out 
of  the  house  and,  regardless  of  consequences,  implor- 
ing Ambrose's  forgiveness. 

However,  after  midnight  a  way  out  of  her  coil 
suggested  itself  like  a  star  shining  out.  She  slept  for  a 
peaceful  hour. 

Long  before  dawn  she  arose  and  awakened  her 
maid.  This  was  Cora,  a  stolid  Cree  half-breed,  dog- 
gedly devoted  to  her  mistress  and  accustomed  to  re- 
ceiving her  impulsive  orders  like  inscrutable  commands 
from  Heaven. 

Upon  being  notified,  therefore,  that  they  were  about 
to  set  off  on  a  long  journey  overland  instead  of  by  the 
launch,  she  set  to  work  to  get  ready  without  surprise 
or  question. 

Colina  wrote  the  letter  to  Ambrose  and  another  to 
her  father.  The  latter  was  a  little  masterpiece  of 
casualness,  designed  to  prevent  pursuit,  if  that  were 
possible. 

She  knew  that  they  dared  not  wait  another  day 
before  starting  up-stream  in  the  launch. 

DEAR  FATHER: 

I  have  heard  a  rumor  of  new  evidence  bearing  on 
the  trials.  It's  not  worth  while  telling  Inspector  Eger- 
ton  and  delaying  everything,  because  I'm  not  sure  of 
anything.  I'm  off  to  investigate  for  myself. 

I'm  taking  Cora,  and  shall  have  a  couple  of  reliable 
men  with  me,  so  there's  no  occasion  to  worry.  You 
must  not  attempt  to  wait  for  me,  of  course. 

If  I  secure  any  information  worth  while  Mr.  Seton 
will  find  a  way  to  send  me  out  with  it.  If  I  do  not, 
why  I'm  not  an  essential  witness  at  the  trials,  and 
of  course  I'll  be  all  right  here  with  the  Setons  until 
you  get  back. 

Affectionately, 

COLINA. 


264  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

She  left  the  letters  with  the  cook,  giving  precise 
instructions  for  their  delivery.  That  to  her  father 
was  not  to  be  handed  over  until  her  absence  from  the 
house  should  be  discovered.  Nothing  was  to  be  said 
about  the  other  letter. 

The  two  girls  saddled  Ginger  and  the  next  best 
horse  in  the  stable  for  Cora  to  ride,  and  took  a  third 
horse  with  a  pack-saddle  for  their  baggage. 

They  rowed  across  the  river,  making  the  horses  swim 
in  the  wake  of  the  boat.  On  the  other  side  they  set  off 
forthwith  on  the  Kakisa  trail.  Colina  had  decided 
that  it  would  be  a  waste  of  precious  time  to  turn 
aside  to  the  Grampierres. 

Whether  Germain  started  before  or  after  her,  she 
could  find  him  on  the  way.  That  he  would  start  for 
the  Kakisa  River  this  morning  she  had  no  doubt. 

When  they  had  ridden  a  couple  of  miles  Cora  point- 
ed out  to  her  where  the  tracks  of  four  horses  struck 
into  the  trail.  They  were  just  ahead,  she  said. 

They  came  upon  Germain  Grampierre  and  his 
brother  Georges  making  their  first  spell  by  the  trail. 
Great  was  their  astonishment  upon  hearing  Colina 
announce  her  intentions. 

Germain  used  all  the  obvious  arguments  to  turn  her 
back,  and  Colina  smilingly  overruled  them.  He  was 
openly  in  awe  of  her,  and,  of  course,  in  the  end  she 
had  her  way,  and  they  rode  together,  Germain  shaking 
his  head  with  secret  misgivings. 

They  pushed  their  horses  to  the  utmost,  ever  urged 
on  by  Colina,  who  could  not  know  what  might  be  be- 
hind them.  But  she  knew  they  rode  the  best  horses 
to  be  had  at  Enterprise. 

They  reached  the  Kakisa  River  on  the  third  day 
without  any  surprise  from  the  rear. 

They  found  that  the  main  body  of  the  Kakisas  had 
been  brought  back  to  their  village  here,  where  they 
were  pursuing  their  usual  avocations  under  the  eye 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  265 

of  the  police  encamped  on  the  terrace  around  the 
shack. 

Colina  immediately  addressed  herself  to  the  police 
headquarters. 

She  had  remarked  Sergeant  Plaskett  on  his  arrival 
at  Fort  Enterprise,  a  typical  mounted  policeman,  and 
a  fine  figure  of  a  man  to  boot — tall,  lean,  deep-chested, 
deep-e3Ted — a  dependable  man. 

She  approached  him  with  confidence.  The  sight 
of  her  astonished,  confused,  and  charmed  him,  as  she 
meant  it  should.  He  was  only  a  man. 

But  as  she  told  her  story  he  stiffened  into  the 
policeman.  "Sorry,"  he  said  uncomfortably.  "I  have 
explicit  orders  from  Inspector  Egerton  not  to  allow 
any  communication  between  these  people  here  and  the 
other  branches  of  the  tribe." 

"Why  not?"  asked   Colina. 

Plaskett  shrugged  deprecatingly.  "Not  for  me  to 
say.  I  can  guess,  perhaps.  It's  not  possible  to  lock 
them  all  up,  but  these  people  are  under  arrest  just 
the  same.  I  must  keep  tHe  disaffected  from  mingling 
with  the  loyal." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Colina,  "but  you  can  give 
me  a  policeman  to  go  up  the  river  with  me  and  make 
a  search. " 

He  shook  his  head  regretfully  but  firmly.  "Inspec- 
tor Egerton  ordered  me  to  leave  the  up-river  people 
alone,"  he  said.  "The  coming  of  a  policeman  would 
throw  them  into  excitement.  No  one  can  say  what  they 
might  do.  I  can't  take  the  responsibility." 

Colina  shrugged.  "Then  the  Grampierres  and  I 
must  go  by  ourselves,"  she  said. 

Plaskett  became  even  stiffer  and  more  uncomfort- 
able. "Germain  Grampierre  and  his  brother  had  no 
business  to  leave  home,"  he  said. 

"By  their  own  confessions  they  are  implicated  in 
the  raid  on  the  Company's  flour-mill.  They  were  told 


266  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

that  if  they  remained  at  home  they  would  not  be  mo- 
lested. But  if  they  attempted  to  escape  they  would 
immediately  be  arrested." 

"They're  not  trying  to  escape !"  cried  Colina. 

"I  don't  believe  they  are,"  said  Plaskett.  "But 
I've  got  to  send  them  home.  Orders  are  orders." 

But  this  was  not  the  kind  of  argument  to  use  with 
a  young  woman  whose  blood  is  up. 

"Don't  you  recognize  anything  but  orders?"  she 
cried.  "Inspector  Egerton  is  hundreds  of  miles  away 
by  this  time.  Are  you  going  to  wait  for  his  orders 
before  you  act?" 

Plaskett's  position  was  not  an  enviable  one.  "When 
anything  new  comes  up  I  have  to  act  for  myself,"  he 
explained  stiffly.  "The  story  about  this  girl  is  not 
new.  During  the  past  week  I  have  examined  every 
principal  man  in  the  tribe  and  many  of  the  women. 

"I  have  not  found  any  clue  to  the  existence  of  such 
a  person.  Moreover,  every  man  has  testified  in  un- 
mistakable signs  that  Ambrose  Doane  was  not  only 
at  large  while  he  was  with  them,  but  that  he  directed 
all  their  movements." 

"They  have  been  told  that  by  saying  this  they  can 
save  themselves,"  said  Colina. 

"Possibly,"  said  Plaskett,  "but  I  cannot  believe  that 
among  so  many  there  is  not  one  who  would  betray 
himself." 

For  half  an  hour  they  had  it  out,  back  and  forth, 
without  making  any  progress.  Plaskett  used  all  of  a 
man's  arguments  to  persuade  her  to  return  to  Enter- 
prise. 

Colina,  seeing  that  she  was  getting  nowhere,  finally 
feigned  to  submit.  She  obtained  his  permission  to  go 
among  the  Indians  by  herself  in  the  hope  that  they 
might  tell  her  something  they  were  afraid  to  tell  the 
police. 

Accompanied  by  Cora  she  went  from  teepee  to  tee- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  267 

pee.  The  Kakisas  showed  themselves  awed  by  her 
condescension,  but  still  they  were  uncommunicative. 

She  was  Gaviller's  daughter.  The  place  of  honor 
by  the  fire  was  made  for  her,  tea  hastily  warmed  up, 
and  doubtful  Indian  delicacies  produced.  But  she 
learned  nothing. 

At  any  mention  of  the  names  Ambrose  Doane  or 
Nesis  a  subtle,  walled  look  crept  into  their  eyes,  and 
they  became  unaccountably  stupid. 

She  was  about  to  give  up  this  line  of  inquiry  when, 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  nearest  teepee,  she  came 
upon  a  girl  engaged  in  dressing  a  moose-hide  stretched 
upon  a  great  frame.  There  were  no  other  Indians 
near.  Colina  resolved  upon  a  last  attempt. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MARYA. 

COLINA  drew  near  the  girl,  pausing  as  if  casually 
interested  in  her  work.  She  was  a  fat  girl,  with  a 
peculiarly  good-humored  expression,  and  evinced  no 
awe  at  Colina's  approach,  but  unaffected  delight. 

Colina  obeyed  an  inward  suggestion,  sent  Cora  back 
to  the  Grampierres,  and  sat  down  beside  Marya,  de- 
termined to  take  plenty  of  time  to  establish  friendly 
relations. 

This  was  not  difficult.  The  plump,  copper-skinned 
maiden  was  overjoyed  by  the  opportunity  to  ex- 
amine anything  so  wonderful  as  a  white  girl  at  close 
range. 

No  part  of  Colina's  person  or  attire  escaped  her 
scrutiny.  Marya  stroked  her  with  a  soft  crooning. 
The  fastidious  Colina  bore  it,  smiling.  At  the  throat 
of  her  waist  Colina  was  wearing  a  topaz-pin,  to  which 
the  Indian  girl's  eyes  ever  returned,  dazzled. 

Colina  finally  took  it  off,  and  pinned  it  in  Marya's 
cotton  dress.  Marya  gave  way  to  an  extravagant 
pantomime  of  joy.  Bowing  her  head,  she  seized  Co- 
lina's hand,  and  pressed  it  to  her  forehead. 

Meanwhile  they  exchanged  such  simple  remarks  as 
lent  themselves  to  the  medium  of  signs.  Colina  finally 
ventured  to  pronounce  the  name  "Nesis"  at  the  same 
time  asking  by  a  sign  which  included  the  teepees  if 
she  was  there. 

Marya  looked  startled.  She  hesitated,  but  Colina's 
hold  was  now  strong  upon  her.  She  shook  her  head. 

268 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  269 

First  glancing  cautiously  around  to  make  sure  they 
were  not  observed,  she  nodded  in  the  direction  of  up 
river. 

By  simple  signs  she  told  Colina  that  Nesis  was  in  a 
village  (crossed  fingers  for  teepees)  beside  a  lake  (a 
wide  sweep,  and  an  agitated,  flattened  hand  for  shim- 
mering water),  and  that  it  could  be  reached  by  a  jour- 
ney with  one  sleep  upon  the  way.  (Here  she  paddled 
an  imaginary  canoe,  stopped,  closed  her  eyes,  inclined 
her  head  on  her  shoulder  and  held  up  one  finger.) 

Colina,  overjoyed,  proceeded  to  further  question. 
In  the  same  graphic,  simple  way  she  learned  the  story 
of  Ambrose's  imprisonment  and  how  Nesis  got  him 
out. 

"Come!"  she  cried,  extending  her  hand.  "We'll 
see  what  Sergeant  Plaskett  has  to  say  to  this!" 

But  when  Marya  understood  that  she  was  expected 
to  repeat  her  story  to  the  policeman,  a  frantic,  stub- 
born terror  took  possession  of  her.  She  gave  Colina 
to  understand  in  no  uncertain  signs  that  the  Indians 
would  kill  her  if  she  told  the  secret. 

Colina,  taking  into  account  the  pains  they  had 
gone  to  to  keep  it,  could  not  deny  the  danger.  She 
finally  asked  Marya  if  she  would  take  her,  Colina,  to 
the  place  where  Nesis  was. 

Marya,  terrified,  positively  refused. 

Pulling  off  her  gauntlet,  Colina  displayed  to  Marya 
a  ring  set  with  a  gleaming  opal.  It  was  Marya's  she 
let  her  understand,  if  she  would  serve  her. 

Marya's  eyes  sickened  with  desire.  She  wavered — 
but  finally  refused  with  a  little  moan.  Terror  was 
stronger  than  cupidity. 

Colina  debated  with  herself.  She  asked  Marya  if 
the  way  to  go  was  by  paddling. 

Marya  shook  her  head.  She  gave  Colina  to  under- 
stand that  the  canoes  were  all  tied  up  together  and 
watched  by  the  police.  She  signed  that  the  Kakisas 


270  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

had  a  few  horses  up  the  river  a  little  way  that  the 
police  did  not  know  about. 

They  stole  out  of  camp  at  dawn,  caught  a  horse 
and  rode  up  the  river.  Evidently  there  was  regular 
travel  between  the  two  villages.  Colina,  thinking  of 
the  policeman's  confident  belief  that  he  had  inter- 
cepted all  communications,  smiled. 

Colina  finally  asked  if  Marya  would  put  her  on  the 
trail  to  the  other  village — in  exchange  for  the  ring. 
Marya,  after  a  struggle  with  her  fears,  consented, 
stipulating  that  they  must  start  before  dark. 

Colina  understood  from  her  signs  that  the  biggest 
opal  ever  mined  would  not  tempt  Marya  to  wander 
in  the  bush  after  dark. 

Colina  did  some  rapid  thinking.  She  doubted 
whether  Germain  Grampierre  after  having  been  warned 
by  the  police  would  go  with  her  to  the  other  village. 

She  quickly  decided  that  she  didn't  want  him  with 
her  anyway,  worthy,  stupid  fellow  that  he  was.  Yet 
he  had  constituted  himself  her  protector,  and  he  would 
hardly  let  her  go  without  him.  It  did  not  promise  to  be 
easy  to  hoodwink  both  Plaskett  and  Grampierre. 

What  she  was  going  to  do  when  she  found  Nesis, 
Colina  did  not  stop  to  consider.  The  thing  to  do  was 
to  find  the  girl,  and  trust  to  pluck  and  mother  wit  for 
the  rest. 

Colina  finally  thought  she  saw  her  way  clear.  She 
asked  Marya  if  she  would  meet  her  in  an  hour  on 
the  Enterprise  trail  outside  of  camp.  It  was  now 
three  o'clock. 

Marya,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  opal,  nodded.  She 
gave  Colina  to  understand  that  she  would  be  waiting 
at  a  place  where  the  trail  crossed  a  stream,  and 
climbed  to  a  little  prairie  with  thick  bushes  around 
it. 

Leaving  Marya,  Colina  returned  to  the  police  tents. 
Climbing  the  hill,  she  had  the  satisfaction  upon  look- 


T#E  FUR  BRINGERS  271' 

ing  back  to  see  that  the  Indian  girl  had  foresaken  her 
moose-hide. 

The  edge  of  the  bush  was  near  her:  it  would  not  be 
hard  for  her  to  lose  herself.  Simulating  an  air  of  dis- 
couragement, Colina  told  Sergeant  Plaskett  she  had 
learned  nothing  and  signified  her  willingness  to  return 
to  Enterprise. 

"I'd  start  at  once,*'  she  said  suggestively,  "but  my 
horses  are  tired." 

Plaskett  was  greatly  relieved.  "I'll  furnish  you  with 
fresh  horses,"  he  said  instantly.  "Let  your  horses 
stay  here  and  rest  up.  I'll  send  them  in  with  the  first 
patrol,  and  you  can  then  return  mine." 

This  was  what  Colina  desired.  She  smiled  on  the 
policeman  dazzlingly. 

Plaskett  sent  a  trooper  for  the  horses,  and  himself 
escorted  Colina  back  to  the  spot  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  where  she  had  ordered  the  Grampierres  and  Cora 
to  wait  for  her. 

She  told  Germain  the  same  story.  The  half-breed 
who  had  been  interviewed  by  Plaskett  in  the  mean- 
time, was  delighted  by  her  resolve  to  return.  He  in- 
stantly set  to  work  to  pack  up. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  they  started  for  home. 
As  they  mounted  the  hill,  Plaskett  gallantly  waved 
his  cap  from  below.  The  bush  swallowed  them.  Co- 
lina was  thinking:  "What  shall  I  do  if  she  is  afraid, 
and  doesn't  come?" 

However,  less  than  a  mile  from  the  river,  they  ford- 
ed a  little  brook,  climbed  a  shallow  hill,  and  there, 
true  to  her  agreement,  waited  Marya,  standing  like  a 
statue  beside  the  trail. 

Colina,  making  believe  to  be  greatly  astonished,  dis- 
mounted, and  drew  her  apart.  Marya,  understand- 
ing from  her  glance  of  intelligence  that  tL  j  others  were 
not  in  the  secret,  gesticulated  vividly  for  their  bene- 
fit. 


272  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"She  tells  me  she  knows  where  Nesis  is  hidden," 
Colina  said  to  Germain.  "She  says  she  will  take  me 
there." 

"We  will  go  back,"  said  Germain. 

Colina  shook  her  head.  "No  need  for  you  to  come 
back,"  she  said.  "It  will  only  anger  the  policeman. 
You  and  Georges  go  on  home.  I  will  get  a  policeman 
to  go  with  me." 

Germain  protested,  but  his  secret  desire  was  to 
obey  the  sergeant's  orders,  and  Colina  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  him. 

A  division  of  the  baggage  was  made  on  the  spot, 
and  they  parted.  The  Grampierres  continued  toward 
Enterprise,  and  the  three  girls  turned  back. 

Colina  breathed  more  freely.  Plaskett  now  believed 
that  she  had  gone  home  with  Germain,  and  Germain 
believed  she  had  gone  back  to  Plaskett. 

Marya  had  mounted  on  their  pack-horse.  They 
had  not  gone  far  in  the  trail,  when  she  signified  that 
they  were  to  strike  off  to  the  left. 

Colina  pulled  up.  "Cora,"  she  said,  "it's  not  true 
that  I  am  going  to  get  help  from  the  police.  I  mean  to 
go  myself  to  the  other  Indian  village  to  get  the  girl 
I  want.  You  don't  have  to  come.  You  can  ride  after 
Germain,  and  tell  him  I  decided  I  didn't  need  you." 

"I  go  wit'  you,"  Cora  said  stolidly. 

Colina  beamed  on  her  handmaiden,  and  offered  her 
her  hand.  She  was  willing  to  face  the  thing  alone,  but 
it  was  a  comfort  to  have  the  stolid  dependable  Cora 
at  her  side.  Moreover,  Cora  was  an  admirable  cook 
and  packer.  Colina  was  not  enamored  of  the  drudgery 
of  camp. 

Marya  led  the  way  slowly  through  the  trackless 
bush  in  the  general  direction  of  the  afternoon  sun, 
or  southwest.  Colina  guessed  that  they  were  making 
a  wide  detour  around  the  Indian  village. 

The  going  was  not  too  difficult,  for  it  was  only 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  273 

second  growth  timber,  poplar  and  birch,  with  spruce 
in  the  hollows.  The  original  monarchs  had  been  con- 
sumed by  fire  many  years  before. 

They  had  covered,  Colina  guessed,  about  five  miles 
when  the  sky  showed  ahead  through  the  tree  trunks, 
and  Marya  signed  that  they  were  to  dismount  and 
tie  the  horses.  Leading  them  to  the  edge  of  the 
trees,  she  made  them  lie  down. 

They  found  themselves  overlooking  a  grassy  bottom 
similar  to  that  upon  which  the  Kakisa  village  stood. 
The  outer  edge  of  the  meadow  was  skirted  by  the 
brown  flood  of  the  river,  and  trees  hemmed  it  in  on 
either  side.  A  score  of  Indian  ponies  were  feeding 
in  the  grass. 

Marya  made  Colina  understand  that  the  trail  to 
Kakisa  Lake  traversed  the  little  plain  below  alongside 
the  river.  She  signified  that  some  men  were  expected 
from  the  upper  village  that  day,  and  that  Colina  must 
wait  where  she  was  until  she  saw  them  pass  below. 
Finally  Marya  pointed  avidly  to  the  opal  ring. 

Colina  handed  it  over.  The  Indian  girl  slipped  it 
on  her  own  finger,  gazing  at  the  effect  with  a  kind 
of  incredulous  delight.  The  stolid  Cora  looked  on  dis- 
approvingly. 

Suddenly  Marya,  without  so  much  as  a  look  at  her 
companions,  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and  hastened  si- 
lently away  through  the  trees.  She  was  clutching 
the  ring  finger  with  the  other  hand  as  if  she  feared 
to  lose  it,  finger  and  all.  That  was  the  last  of  Marya. 

Sure  enough  before  the  sun  went  down,  they  saw  a 
party  of  four  Indians  issue  out  on  the  little  plain 
from  the  direction  of  up  river.  Crossing  the  grass  and 
dismounting,  they  turned  their  horses  out  and  cached 
their  saddles  under  the  willows. 

Then  they  proceeded  afoot.  Colina  waited  until 
she  was  sure  there  were  no  more  to  follow ;  then  mount- 
ing, she  and  Cora  rode  down  to  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  FINDING  OF  NESIS. 

THE  afternoon  was  waning,  and  Colina,  knowing 
she  must  have  covered  nearly  sixty  miles,  began  to 
keep  a  sharp  lookout  ahead.  They  had  had  no  ad- 
ventures by  the  way,  except  that  of  sleeping  under  the 
stars  without  male  protectors  near,  in  itself  an  ad- 
venture to  Colina.  Colina  took  it  like  everything  else, 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

Cora  had  been  raised  on  the  trail.  In  her  impa- 
tience to  arrive  Colina  had  somewhat  scamped  her 
horses'  rest,  and  the  grass-fed  beasts  were  tired. 

Issuing  from  among  the  trees  upon  one  of  the  now 
familiar  grassy  bottoms  that  bordered  the  river,  they 
saw  grazing  horses  and  knew  they  were  hard  upon 
their  destination. 

A  spur  of  the  hills  cut  off  the  view  up  river.  Round- 
ing it,  the  teepees  spread  before  them.  They  were 
contained  in  a  semicircular  hollow  of  the  hills  like  an 
amphitheater,  with  the  river  running  close  beside. 

Colina  had  decided  that  in  boldness  lay  her  best 
chance  of  success.  Clapping  heels  to  her  horse's  ribs, 
therefore,  she  rode  smartly  into  the  square,  appearing 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  Indians  before  they  were 
warned.  This  village  differed  in  no  important  respect 
from  the  others.  Some  of  the  teepees  were  made  of 
tanned  hides  in  the  old  way.  The  people  were  of  the 
same  stock,  but  even  less  sophisticated.  Few  of  these 
had  even  been  to  Fort  Enterprise  to  trade*. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  Colina's  Vhite  face  af- 
fected them  something  in  the  way  of  a  miracle. 

274 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  275 

Every  man  dropped  what  he  was  about  and  stared 
with  hanging  jaw.  Others  came  running  out  of  the 
teepees  and  stopped  dead  at  the  door.  For  a  moment 
or  two  there  was  no  movement  whatever  in  the  square. 

But  they  knew  Gaviller's  daughter  by  repute,  of 
course,  and  the  word  was  passed  around  that  it  was 
she.  The  tension  relaxed.  They  slowly  gathered 
around,  looking  at  her  with  no  friendly  eye. 

Colina  searched  rapidly  among  them  for  one  that 
might  answer  to  the  description  of  Nesis.  There  was 
no  girl  that  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination  could 
have  been  called  beautiful.  Not  wishing  to  give  them 
time  to  spirit  her  away,  Colina  suddenly  raised  her 
voice  and  cried :  "Nesis !" 

There  was  no  answer,  but  several  heads  in  the  crowd 
turned  involuntarily  toward  a  certain  teepee.  Colina, 
perceiving  the  movement,  wheeled  her  horse  and  loped 
across  the  square  in  that  direction. 

Cora  followed,  leading  the  pack-horse.  The  Indians 
sidled  after.  Approaching  the  teepee  she  had  marked, 
Colina  heard  sounds  of  a  muffled  struggle  inside. 
Flinging  herself 'off  her  horse  and  throwing  up  the  flap, 
she  saw  a  figure  on  the  ground,  held  down  by  several 
old  crones. 

"Hands  off!"  cried  Colina  in  a  voice  so  sudden  and 
peremptory  that  the  old  women,  though  the  words 
meant  nothing  to  them,  obeyed. 

Nesis,  lithe  and  swift  as  a  lynx,  wriggled  out  of  their 
grasp,  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  darted  outside,  all  in  a 
single  movement,  it  seemed. 

The  two  girls  faced  each  other,  Nesis  panting  and 
trembling.  The  same  look  of  bitter  curiosity  was  in 
each  pair  of  eyes.  Each  acknowledged  the  other's 
beauty  with  a  jealous  twinge.  But  in  the  red  girl's 
sad  eyes  there  was  no  hope  of  rivalry.  She  soon  cast 
down  her  lids. 

Colina  thought  her  eyes  the  saddest  she  had  ever 


276  THE  FUR  BRlNGERS 

seen  in  a  human  face.     She  saw  that  there  was  little 
resemblance  between  her  and  her  Kakisa  sisters. 

Nesis  was  as  slender  as  a  young  aspen  and  her 
cheeks  showed  a  clear  olive  pallor.  Her  lips  were  like 
the  petals  of  a  Jacqueminot  rose.  Colina,  remember- 
ing that  Ambrose  had  kissed  them,  turned  a  little 
hard. 

"You  are  Nesis?"  she  asked,  though  she  knew  it 
well. 

The  girl  nodded  without  looking  up. 

"You  know  Ambrose  Doane?" 

Again  the  mute  nod. 

"Will  you  come  with  me  to  testify  for  him?"1 

Nesis  looked  up  blankly. 

"I  mean,"  explained  Colina,  "will  you  come  and 
tell  his  judges  that  he  did  not  lead  the  Kakisas  into 
trouble?" 

Nesis,  by  vivid  signs,  informed  Colina  that  Am- 
brose had  been  a  prisoner  among  the  Indians. 
i  It  occurred  to  Colina  as  strange,  since  she  could 
understand  English,  that  she  should  use  signs.  "I 
know  he  was  a  prisoner,"  she  said.  "Will  you  come 
with  me  and  tell  the  police  that  ?* 

Nesis  turned  and  with  a  despairing  gesture  called 
Colina's  attention  to  the  gathering  Indians  who  would 
prevent  her.  Not  a  sound  issued  from  her  lips. 

"Never  mind  them,"  said  Colina  scornfully.  "Are 
you  willing  to  come?" 

Nesis  lifted  her  eyes  to  Colina's — eyes  luminous  with 
eagerness  and  emotion — and  quickly  nodded  again. 

"Why  doesn't  she  speak!"  thought  Colina.  Aloud 
she  said:  "All  right.  Tell  them  I  am  going  to  take 
you.  Tell  them  anybody  that  interferes  does  so  at  his 
peril."  She  pointed  to  her  rifle. 

To  Colina's  astonishment,  the  girl  lowered  her  head 
and  flung  an  arm  up  over  her  face. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she   cried.      "I'll  take  care 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  277 

of  you."  She  drew  the  arm  down.  "Speak  to  them !" 
she  said  again. 

Nesis  slowly  raised  her  head.  Her  eyes  crept  to  Co- 
lina's,  humble  and  unspeakably  mournful.  She  opened 
her  mouth  and  pointed  within. 

Colina  looked — and  sickened.  A  little  cry  of  utter 
horror  was  forced  from  her,  and  she  fell  back  a  step, 
iShe  saw  why  Nesis  did  not  speak.  The  disclosure 
was  too  sudden  and  dreadful. 

For  the  first  and  last  time  during  that  hazardous 
enterprise  her  strong  spirit  failed.  She  became  as  pale 
as  snow  and  her  hands  fiew  to  her  breast.  Cora, 
watching  her,  slipped  out  of  the  saddle  and  glided 
to  her  aid. 

The  weakness  was  momentary.  Before  Cora  got  to 
her  the  color  came  winging  back  into  Colina's  cheeks. 
She  thrust  the  half-breed  girl  from  her  and,  striding 
forward,  faced  the  assembled  Indians  with  blazing 
eyes. 

"You  cowards!"  she  cried  ringingly.  "You  pitiful, 
unmanly  brutes!  I  don't  know  which  one  of  you  did 
it.  It  doesn't  matter.  You  all  permitted  it.  You 
shall  all  suffer  for  it.  I  promise  you  that !" 

Under  the  whips  of  her  eyes  and  voice  they  cringed 
and  scowled. 

Colina  thrust  her  riding-crop  into  the  hands  of 
Nesis.  "Get  on  that  horse,"  she  commanded,  pointing 
to  the  pack-animal.  "Mount!"  she  cried  to  Cora. 

Meanwhile,  from  her  own  saddle  she  was  hastily  un- 
fastening her  rifle.  She  resolutely  threw  the  lever 
over  and  back.  At  the  ominous  sound  the  Indians 
edged  behind  each  other  or  sought  cover  behind  con- 
venient teepees. 

Nesis  and  Cora  were  mounted.  Colina,  keeping  her 
eyes  on  the  Indians,  said  to  them:  "Go  ahead.  Walk 
your  horses.  I'll  follow."  She  swung  herself  into 
her  own  saddle. 


278  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

Cora  and  Nesis  started  slowly  out  of  the  square. 
Colina  followed,  swinging  sidewise  in  her  saddle  and 
watching  the  Indians  behind. 

None  offered  to  follow  directly,  but  Colina  observed 
that  those  who  had  disappeared  around  the  teepees 
were  catching  horses  beyond.  Others  running  out  of 
the  square  on  the  other  side  had  disapeared  around  the 
spur  of  the  hill. 

Plainly  they  did  not  mean  to  let  her  take  Nesis 
unopposed. 

The  girls  finally  issued  from  among  the  teepees  and 
extended  their  horses  into  a  trot.  Cora  rode  first, 
her  stolid  face  unchanged;  from  moment  to  mpment 
she  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  make  sure  that  Colina 
was  safe.  Nesis,  blinded  with  tears,  let  her  horse  fol- 
low unguided,  and  Colina  brought  up  the  rear. 

Colina's  face  showed  the  fighting  look,  intent  and 
resolute.  Her  brain  was  too  busy  to  dwell  on  tragedy 
then. 

Rounding  the  hill,  she  saw  that  those  who  had  gone 
ahead  had  disappeared.  The  horses  that  had  been 
grazing  here  were  likewise  gone. 

It  was  not  pleasant  to  consider  the  possibility  of  an 
ambush  waiting  in  the  woods  ahead.  Other  Indians 
began  to  appear  in  pursuit  around  the  hill. 

Seeing  the  girls,  they  pulled  in  their  horses  and 
came  on  more  slowly.  Colina,  wishing  to  see  what 
they  would  do,  drew  her  horse  to  a  walk,  whereupon 
the  Indians  likewise  walked  their  horses. 

Evidently  they  meant  to  stalk  the  girls  at  their 
leisure. 

Colina,  like  a  brave  and  hard-pressed  general,  con- 
sidered the  situation  from  every  angle  without  minimiz- 
ing the  danger.  She  had  really  nothing  but  a  moral 
weapon  to  use  against  the  Indians.  If  that  failed  her, 
then  what? 

Night  was  drawing  on,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  279 

intimidate  them  with  eyes  and  voice  after  dark.  More- 
over, her  horses  were  fatigued  to  the  point  of  exhaus- 
tion. How  could  she  turn  them  loose  to  rest  and 
graze  with  enemies  both  in  the  front  and  the  rear? 

She  knew  that  a  favorite  Indian  stratagem  is  to 
stampede  the  adversaries*  horses  after  dark.  Colina 
carried  the  only  gun  in  their  little  party. 

Striking  into  the  woods  out  of  sight  of  their  pur- 
suers, they  urged  their  horses  to  the  best  that  was  in 
them.  Colina  bethought  herself  of  profiting  by  Nesis's 
experience. 

"Nesis,"  she  called,  "you  know  these  people !  What 
should  we  do?" 

Nesis,  rousing  herself  and  turning  her  dreadfully 
eloquent  eyes  upon  Colina,  signified  that  they  must 
ride  on  for  the  present.  When  the  sun  went  down  she 
would  tell  what  to  do. 

For  an  hour  thereafter  they  rode  without  speak- 
ing. 

While  it  was  still  light  they  came  out  on  another 
meadow.  Nesis  signed  to  Colina  that  they  should  halt 
at  the  edge  of  the  trees  on  the  other  side,  and,  picketing 
the  horses,  let  them  graze  for  a  little  while. 

It  was  done.  The  horses  had  to  feed  and  rest, 
and  this  looked  like  as  good  a  place  as  any.  Mean- 
while Cora  built  a  fire  and  cooked  their  supper  as 
unconcerned  as  if  it  were  a  picnic  party  an  hour's 
ride  from  home. 

They  hadfno  sooner  dismounted  than  the  Indians  ap- 
peared out  of  the  woods  at  the  other  side  of  the 
meadow.  Seeing  the  girls,  they  likewise  dismounted 
without  coming  any  closer,  and  built  a  great  fire. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  separated  the  two  fires. 
It  grew  dark.  Colina  sat  out  out  of  range  of  the 
firelight,  watching  the  other  fire. 

Nesis  took  the  gun  and  went  on  up  the  trail  to 
guard  against  the  surprise  from  that  side.  Cora 


280  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

kept  an  eye  upon  the  dim  shapes  of  the  tethered  horses, 
and  watched  her  mistress  with  sullen,  doglike  devo- 
tion. 

After  an  hour  and  a  half  Nesis  returned,  and  sign- 
ing to  Cora  to  saddle  the  horses,  made  a  reconnais- 
sance across  the  meadow. 

Coming  back  to  the  fire  presently,  she  indicated  to 
Colina  that  they  were  not  watched  from  that  side, 
and  that  they  should  now  ride  on. 

Evidently  the  Indians  thinking  they  had  them 
trapped  in  the  trail  were  careless.  Indians  are  not 
fond  of  scout  duty  in  the  dark  in  any  case. 

They  softly  made  ready,  taking  care  not  to  let  the 
firelight  betray  their  activities.  Nesis's  last  act  was 
to  heap  fresh  wood  on  the  fire.  Colina,  approving  all 
she  did  was  glad  to  let  her  run  things.  She  could 
not  guess  how  she  purposed  evading  the  Indians  in 
front. 

They  mounted,  and  proceeded  into  the  woods,  walk- 
ing their  horses  slowly.  Colina  could  not  make  out 
the  trail,  but  her  horse  could. 

Nesis  led  the  way.  They  climbed  a  little  hill  and 
descended  the  other  side.  At  the  bottom  the  trail 
was  bisected  by  a  shallow  stream  making  its  way  over 
a  stony  bed  to  the  river. 

Halting  her  horse  in  the  middle  of  it,  Nesis  allowed 
Colina  to  approach,  and  pointed  out  to  her  that  they 
must  turn  to  the  right  here,  and  let  their  horses  walk 
in  the  water  to  avoid  leaving  tracks. 

For  more  than  an  hour  they  made  a  painfully  slow 
journey  among  the  stones.  The  intelligent  horses 
picked  their  way  with  noses  close  to  the  ground. 

They  were  now  between  the  steep  high  banks  of  a 
coulee.  The  trees  gradually  thinned  out,  and  a  wide 
swath  of  the  starry  sky  showed  overhead.  Colina's 
heart  rose  steadily. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  281 

The  Indians  could  not  possibly  find  the  place  where 
they  had  left  the  trail  until  daylight. 

They  would  instantly  understand  their  own  strata- 
gem, of  course,  but  they  must  lose  still  more  time, 
searching  the  bed  of  the  creek  for  tracks  leaving 
it.  If  only  the  horses  had  been  fresher! 

Finally  Nesis  left  the  bed  of  the  creek,  and  urged 
her  horse  obliquely  up  the  steep  side  of  the  coulee  on 
the  left. 

This  was  the  side  farther  from  the  lower  village, 
and  the  Enterprise  trail,  and  Colina  wondered  if  she 
had  not  made  a  mistake. 

Mounting  over  the  rim  of  the  coulee  a  superb  night- 
view  was  open  to  them.  Before  them  rolled  the  bald 
prairie  wide  as  the  sea,  with  all  the  stars  of  heaven 
piercing  the  black  dome  overhead. 

It  was  still  and  frosty;  the  horses  breathed  smoke. 
To  Colina's  nostrils  rose  the  delicate  smell  of  the  rich 
buffalo  grass,  which  cures  itself  as  it  grows.  The 
tired  horses,  excited  by  it,  pawed  the  earth,  and  pulled 
at  the  lines. 

They  halted,  and  Nesis  turned  her  face  up,  fixing 
their  position  by  the  stars.  She  finally  pointed  to  the 
southeast.  Colina  knew  it  was  southeast  because  when 
she  faced  in  that  direction  the  north  star,  friend  of 
every  traveler  by  night,  was  over  her  left  shoulder. 

"But  the  Kakisa  village,  the  trail  back  to  Enter- 
prise is  there,"  she  objected,  pointing  northeast. 

Nesis  nodded.  With  her  graceful  and  speaking 
gestures  she  informed  Colina  that  all  the  country 
that  way  was  covered  with  almost  impenetrable  woods 
through  which  they  could  not  ride  without  a  trail. 

Southeast,  the  prairie  rolled  smoothly  all  the  way 
to  the  great  river  that  came  from  the  distant  high 
mountains. 

"The  spirit  river?"  asked  Colina. 

Nesis  nodded,  adding  in  dumb-show  that  when  they 


282  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

reached  its  banks  they  would  make  a  raft  and  float 
down  to  Fort  Enterprise. 

"Good!"  said  Colina.  "Let's  ride  on.  The  moon 
will  be  up  later.  We'll  camp  by  the  first  water  that 
we  come  to." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    TRIAL,. 

MR.  WILFRED  PASCOE,  K.C.,  arose  and  cleared  his 
throat  musically.  He  drew  out  his  handkerchief,  pol- 
ished his  glasses,  returned  the  handkerchief,  and  paused 
suggestively. 

Mr.  Pascoe  was  assured  that  he  was  the  leading 
attraction  at  the  trial  of  Ambrose  Doane,  and  that 
the  humming  crowd  which  filled  every  corner  of  the 
court-room  had  come  for  the  express  purpose  of  hear- 
ing him,  the  famous  advocate  from  the  East,  sum  up 
for  the  crown. 

Indeed,  in  his  opinion,  there  was  no  one  else  in  the 
case.  Denholm  for  the  defense  was  a  sharp  and 
clever  lad,  but  a  mere  lad!  As  for  the  judge — well 
one  knows  these  judges  in  the  outlying  provinces ! 

The  people  of  Prince  George  did  not  often  get  a 
chance  to  listen  to  a  man  like  him,  therefore  he  wished 
to  give  them  the  worth  of  their  money. 

He  was  a  dignified,  ruddy  little  gentleman,  clad  in 
a  well  turned  cutaway  that  fell  from  his  highly  convex 
middle  like  the  wings  of  a  pouter  pigeon. 

"My  lord  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  began  in 
a  voice  of  insinuating  modesty  and  sweetness,  "in  this 
room  during  the  past  four  days  we  have  witnessed 
the  unfolding  of  an  extraordinary  drama. 

"Through  all  the  criminal  annals  of  this  country 
we  may  search  in  vain  for  a  precedent  to  this  case. 
In  the  past  we  have  had  to  try  Indians  and  half- 
breeds  for  rebelling  against  the  government. 

"In  such  cases  punishment  was  always  tempered 
283 


284  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

with  mercy;  we  were  in  the  position  of  a  parent  chas- 
tising his  child. 

"Here  we  are  faced  by  a  different  situation.  Here 
we  have  a  white  man,  one  of  our  own  race  charged  with 
inciting  and  leading  the  natives  to  rebel  against  au- 
thority. By  tongue  and  deed  he  strove  to  unloosen 
the  passions  of  hell  to  his  own  profit ! 

"Every  man  of  middle  age  in  this  Western  country 
knows  .what  Indian  warfare  means.  The  flesh  crawls 
at  the  picture  of  shrieking,  painted  demons  that  is 
called  up,  the  flames,  the  tortures,  the  dishonored 
homes — gentlemen,  it — it  is  difficult  for  me  to  speak 
of  this  matter  with  a  becoming  restraint. 

"When  we  come  to  examine  the  evidence  we  are 
faced  by  a  well-nigh  inextricable  confusion.  But,  gen- 
tlemen, the  main  issue  is  clear. 

"We  see  the  prisoner  having  made  his  first  false 
step  drawn  by  inevitable  succession  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  quicksands  of  passion  and  violence.  Out  of 
the  mass  of  details  I  ask  you  to  choose  three  facts 
which  in  themselves  constitute  a  strong  presumptive 
case. 

"First,  the  trouble  at  Fort  Enterprise — that  pleas- 
ant little  Eden  of  the  far  north,  invaded,  alas !  by  the 
serpent — the  beginning  of  the  trouble  I  say  was  exactly 
coincident  with  the  arrival  of  Ambrose  Doane. 

"Second,  in  every  scene  of  violence  that  followed  we 
find  him  a  leading  figure.  Third,  all  trouble  ceased 
upon  his  arrest. 

"Let  us  glance  in  passing  at  the  first  act  of  lawless- 
ness, the  seizing  of  the  Company's  mill.  The  prisoner 
admits  that  he  forcibly  broke  into  the  mill,  hoping,  no 
doubt,  that  by  confessing  the  minor  offense  he  may 
persuade  you  to  believe  him  when  he  denies  the  greater. 
This  is  a  very  ancient  expedient  of  accused  persons. 

"He  ground  his  grain  and  carried  it  back  to  the 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  285 

Indians,  and  they  stored  it  in  an  empty  shack  across 
the  river.  This  is  conceded  by  both  sides. 

"On  the  following  night  during  the  progress  of  a 
barbaric  dance  among  the  Kakisas,  at  which  the  pris- 
oner was  a  guest — an  honored  guest,  remember — an 
alarm  of  fire  was  given. 

"Upon  running  to  the  scene  they  found  the  shack 
in  flames.  It  was  completely  destroyed,  together  with 
its  contents. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  this  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
case.  No  evidence  has  been  adduced  to  show  who  set 
that  fire.  Its  suddenness  and  violence  precludes  the 
possibility  of  its  having  caught  by  accident.  It  was 
set,  but  who  set  it? 

"We  are  reduced  to  mere  speculation  here.  Was  it 
any  one  connected  with  the  Company  ?  No !  They 
had  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  unprotected  goods 
across  the  river;  they  were  a  mere  handful,  and  the 
Indians  three  hundred.  It  isn't  reasonable. 

"Well,  then,  did  any  of  the  Indians  set  it?  Why 
should  they?  It  was  their  flour;  they  had  receipted 
for  it.  Lastly,  did  Ambrose  Doane  do  it,  or  have  it 
done?  Ah!  Let  us  look  for  possible  motives. 

"He  was  a  trader,  remember.  It  had  been  so  easy 
for  him  to  secure  the  first  lot;  perhaps  he  wanted  to 
sell  them  another  lot.  The  simple  Indians,  of  course, 
would  be  persuaded  that  the  incendiary  came  from 
across  the  river — " 

Mr.  Denholm  rose.  "I  object,"  he  said.  "My  emi- 
nent friend  has  no  right  to  suggest  such  ideas  to  the 
jury.  There  is  no  evidence — " 

Mr.  Pascoe  beamed  upon  his  young  opponent. 
"Counsel  overlooks  the  fact,"  he  said  gently,  "that  I 
expressly  stated  this  was  mere  speculation  on  my 
part." 

"Overruled,"  murmured  the  judge. 

Mr.  Pascoe  resumed :  "As  to  what  followed  there  are 


286  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

several  versions.  The  prisoner  says  that  he  pleaded 
with  the  Indians,  and  tried  to  keep  them  from  cross- 
ing the  river.  Simon  Grampierre  corroborates  this; 
but  Grampierre,  you  must  remember,  is  the  prisoner's 
self-confessed  accomplice  in  the  seizure  of  the  flour- 
mill. 

"Still,  he  may  be  telling  the  truth.  Grampierre  was 
not  with  Doane  all  the  time.  It  is  highly  probable  that 
the  prisoner,  seeking  to  impress  Grampierre,  pleaded 
with  the  Indians  in  his  hearing.  The  Indians  couldn't 
understand  English,  anyway. 

"Watusk  testified  that  he  had  a  conversation  with  the 
prisoner  during  the  fire,  but  the  confusion  was  so 
great  he  cannot  remember  what  was  said.  This  is 
very  natural. 

"Myengeen,  Tatateecha,  and  the  other  Indians  who 
testified  said  that  the  prisoner  did  harangue  them, 
and  that  they  understood  from  his  gestures  that  he 
was  urging  them  to  cross  the  river  and  revenge  them- 
selves. 

"All  say  it  was  from  him  that  they  first  heard  Ga- 
viller's  name.  I  don't  think  we  need  look  any  further. 

"Anyhow,  the  prisoner  led  the  mob  down  to  the 
beach  where  his  york-boat  was  lying,  and  they  all  em- 
barked in  his  boat.  He  says  he  tried  to  keep  them 
out,  but  he  does  not  deny  crossing  with  them.  Hardly 
likely  they  would  take  him  as  a  passenger,  is  it,  if  he 
had  fought  them  so  strenuously? 

"On  what  took  place  in  John  Caviller's  house  that 
night  I  will  touch  very  briefly.  It  was  a  ghastly  night 
for  the  little  company  of  defenders!  We  have  no 
eye-witness  to  the  prisoner's  dastardly  attack  on  Mr. 
Gaviller.  Mr.  Strange,  through  the  most  praise- 
worthy motives,  has  refused  to  testify  against  him. 

"Mr.  Strange  takes  the  ground  that  since  he  is 
obliged  to  act  as  interpreter  in  this  case,  no  other 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  287 

being  obtainable,  it  would  be  improper  for  him  to  give 
evidence. 

"In  the  light  of  the  prisoner's  impudent  charge 
against  Mr.  Strange,  the  latter's  conduct  is  truly  mag- 
nanimous. The  charge  that  Strange  tried  to  murder 
his  employer  is  simply  laughable.  Twenty-nine  years 
of  faithful  service  give  it  the  lie. 

"A  great  point  has  been  made  by  the  defense  that 
the  prisoner  had  no  motive  in  attempting  to  kill  Mr. 
Caviller.  Gentlemen,  he  had  the  same  motive  that  has 
inspired  every  murder  in  history — hate! 

"There  is  any  amount  of  testimony  to  show  with 
what  hatred  the  prisoner  always  spoke  of  Mr.  Gaviller. 
GavJler  was  his  business  rival,  his  rich  and  success- 
ful rival.  Gaviller  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  pow- 
ers that  opposed  his  headstrong  will.  I  repeat,  it  is 
hate  and  opportunity  that  make  a  murder. 

"Mr.  Gaviller  was  prostrated  with  weakness.  How 
simple  to  creep  up-stairs  in  the  dark  and  finish  what 
the  other  coward's  bullet  had  almost  accomplished! 
And  how  impossible  to  prove  that  it  was  a  murder  1 
Mr.  Caviller's  vitality  was  so  low  that  night,  the  doctor 
has  testified,  that  he  himself  would  not  have  suspected 
foul  play  if  he  had  found  him  dead  in  the  morning. 

"When  they  arrested  Doane  in  the  house  the  gun 
they  took  from  him  was  one  that  had  been  stolen  from 
the  Company  store  earlier  in  the  night.  Remember 
that. 

"At  daylight  the  Indians  came  and  made  a  demand 
on  the  defenders  of  the  house  for  their  leader,  Ambrose 
Doane.  They  threatened  to  burn  the  house  down  if  he 
was  not  given  up  to  them.  They  welcomed  him  with 
extravagant  expressions  of  joy. 

"This  is  positive  evidence,  gentlemen.  Those  in  the 
house  saw  the  prisoner  give  an  order  to  bear  away 
the  dead  bodies,  and  the  order  was  obeyed.  Such  little 
facts  are  highly  significant. 


288  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Watusk's  evidence  makes  the  next  link.  I  do  not 
attempt  to  justify  this  unfortunate  man,  gentlemen. 
At  least  he  is  contrite,  and  throws  himself  on  the  mercy 
of  the  court.  Watusk  says  when  they  came  back  across 
the  river  the  Indians  were  sorry  for  what  they  had 
done  and  terrified  of  punishment. 

"Watusk  urged  them  to  return  what  they  had 
stolen.  He  had  taken  no  part  in  the  looting  of  the 
store.  But  Ambrose  Doane  would  have  none  of  it. 
He  persuaded  Watusk  to  give  the  order  to  break  camp 
and  fly  back  to  the  Kakisa  River.  Doane  promised 
the  bewildered  Indian  that  he  would  make  good  terms 
for  the  offenders  with  the  police  when  they  came. 

"Doane's  contention  that  he  was  a  prisoner  among 
the  Kakisas  is  unsupported.  Watusk  and  five  other 
Indians  have  sworn  that  not  only  was  he  free  to  come 
and  go  as  he  chose,  but  that  he  directed  their  move- 
ments. 

"As  to  the  prisoner's  story  of  the  Indian  girl,  ah — 
a  touching  story,  gentlemen!"  Mr.  Pascoe  paused  for 
a  comfortable,  silent  little  laugh.  He  wiped  his  eyes. 
"Almost  worthy  of  one  of  our  popular  romancers! 

"Not  very  original  perhaps,  the  beautiful  Indian 
maid  falling  a  victim  to  the  charms  of  the  pale-faced 
prisoner,  whispering  to  him  at  night  through  a  chink 
in  his  prison  wall,  and  smuggling  a  knife  to  assist  his 
escape! 

"Not  very  original,  I  say;  is  it  possible  he  could 
have  read  it  somewhere,  adding  a  few  little  touches  of 
his  own?  Unfortunately,  our  story-teller  in  his  de- 
sire for  artistic  verisimilitude  has  overreached  him- 
self. 

"That  touch  about  Nesis — if  that  is  what  he  called 
her,  being  the  fourth  wife  of  Watusk.  Why  fourth? 
one  wonders.  You  have  heard  Lona  testify  that  she 
was  Watusk's  one  and  only  wife.  She  ought  to  know. 
I  fancy  I  need  say  no  more  about  that. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  289 

"'Next  comes  Inspector  Egerton.  The  inspector 
testifies  that  the  trap  set  for  his  men  in  the  hills  north 
of  the  Kakisa  River  was  of  an  ingenuity  far  beyond 
the  compass  of  the  Indian  imagination.  You  have 
seen  a  plan  of  it.  You  have  heard  these  simple,  ig- 
norant red  men  testify  here.  Could  they  have  made 
such  a  plan?  Impossible! 

"Gentlemen,  I  ask  you  to  consider  the  situation  on 
that  fair  morning  in  September  when  the  gallant  little 
band  of  redcoats  rode  into  that  hellishly  planned  trap. 
The  heart  quails  at  the  imminence  of  their  peril! 

"That  a  horrible  tragedy  was  by  a  miracle  averted 
is  no  credit  to  this  prisoner.  That,  instead  of  being 
the  most  execrated  murderer  in  the  history  of  our  land, 
he  is-  only  on  trial  for  a  felony  he  has  not  himself  to 
thank.  He  has  to  thank  the  Merciful  Providence  on 
High  who  caused  the  red  man's  heart  to  relent  at  the 
critical  moment! 

"Watusk  could  not  give  the  order  to  shoot.  You 
have  heard  the  policemen  testify  that  the  prisoner  was 
furious  at  the  Indian's  pusillanimity.  I  say  it  was  a 
God-sent  pusillanimity ! 

"Our  merciful  law  makes  a  distinction  between  suc- 
cessful and  unsuccessful  crimes,  though  there  is  no 
difference  in  the  criminal.  He  is  lucky!  Gentlemen, 
all  that  justice  demands  of  you  is  that  you  should  find 
him  guilty  of  treason-felony!" 

Mr.  Pascoe  sat  down  and  blew  his  nose  with  loud, 
conscious  modesty.  The  jury  looked  pleased  and 
flattered.  An  excited  murmur  traveled  about  the  court- 
room, and  the  judge  picked  up  his  gavel  to  suppress 
threatened  applause. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  way  popular 
opinion  tended  in  this  trial.  Though  the  applause  was 
stopped  before  it  began,  one  could  feel  the  crowd's 
animus  against  the  prisoner  no  less  than  if  they  had 
shouted  "Hang  him !"  with  one  voice. 


290  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

They  believed  that  he  had  plotted  against  the  popu- 
lar idols,  the  mounted  police;  that  was  enough. 

The  prisoner  sat  at  a  table  beside  his  counsel  with 
his  chin  in  his  palm.  He  was  well  dressed  and  groomed 
— Denholm  saw  to  that — and  his  face  composed, 
though  very  pale ;  the  eyes  lusterless. 

Throughout  Mr.  Pascoe's  arraignment  he  scarcely 
moved,  nor  appeared  to  pay  more  than  cursory  atten- 
tion. 

It  is  the  characteristic  picture  of  a  prisoner  on 
trial;  guilty  or  innocent  makes  little  difference  on  the 
surface.  Nature,  when  we  have  reached  the  limit  of 
endurance,  lends  us  apathy. 

Ambrose  had  suffered  so  much  he  was  dulled  to  suf- 
fering. He  had  not  a  friend  in  the  court-room  except 
Arthur  Denholm.  Peter  Minot,  after  making  a  depo- 
sition in  his  favor,  had  been  obliged  to  hasten  north  to 
look  after  their  endangered  business. 

There  were  others  who  would  have  been  glad  to  sup- 
port him,  but  he  would  not  call  on  them.  Indeed  what 
he  most  dreaded  were  the  occasional  testimonials  of 
sympathy  which  reached  him.  Friendliness  unmanned 
him. 

The  other  way  in  which  his  ordeal  made  itself  felt 
was  in  his  great  longing  to  have  it  over  with.  He 
looked  forward  to  the  cell  which  he  believed  awaited 
him  as  to  relief.  There  at  least  he  would  be  safe 
from  the  hard,  inquisitive  eyes  which  empaled  him. 

Meanwhile,  as  they  argued  back  and  forth  and  his 
fate  hung  in  the  balance,  he  found  himself  staring  at 
the  patch  of  pale  winter  sky  which  showed  in  the  tall 
window.  The  air  was  clean  up  there.  The  sky  was  a 
noble,  empty  place  unpolluted  by  foul  breath  and 
villainy  and  lies ! 

When  Denholm  arose  to  speak  for  the  prisoner,  the 
jury  regarded  him  with  curiosity  tempered  by  pity. 
They  liked  Denholm,  liked  his  resourcefulness,  his  un- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  291 

assailable  good-humor,  his  gallant  struggle  on  behalf 
of  a  bad  cause.  Plainly  they  were  wondering  what  he 
could  say  for  his  client  now. 

If  Denholm  felt  that  his  case  was  hopeless,  he  gave 
no  sign  of  it.  He  was  frank,  unassuming,  friendly 
with  the  jury.  His  style  of  delivery  was  conversa- 
tional. 

"I  will  be  brief,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  mean  to  take 
you  over  the  evidence  again.  Every  detail  must  be 
more  than  familiar  to  you. 

"What  my  learned  friend  has  just  said  to  you,  what 
I  say  to  you  now,  and  what  his  lordship  will  presently 
say  to  you  from  the  bench  all  amounts  to  the  same 
thing — choose  for  yourselves  what  you  are  to  believe. 
Somewhere  in  this  jungle  of  contradictions  lurks  the 
truth.  It  is  for  you  to  track  it  down. 

"The  prisoner's  case  stands  or  falls  by  his  own 
testimony.  We  have  an  instinct  that  warns  us  to 
disregard  what  a  man  says  in  his  own  defense.  In  this 
case  we  cannot  disregard  it.  I  ask  you  not  to  con- 
sider it  as  evidence  against  the  prisoner  that  he  has 
no  witnesses. 

"If  we  go  over  the  story  in  our  minds,  we  will  see 
that  under  the  conditions  of  these  happenings  he  could 
not  have  witnesses.  Therefore,  if  we  wish  to  do  jus- 
tice, we  must  weigh  his  own  story. 

"Never  mind  the  details  now,  but  consider  his  atti- 
tude in  telling  it.  For  an  entire  session  of  the  court 
he  sat  in  the  witness  chair  telling  us  with  the  most 
painstaking  detail  everything  that  happened  from  the 
time  of  his  first  arrival  at  Fort  Enterprise  up  to  his 
arrest. 

"During  the  whole  of  the  following  day  he  was  on 
the  stand  under  a  perfect  fusillade  of  questions  from 
my  learned  friend,  admittedly  the  most  brilliant  cross- 
examiner  at  the  bar.  He  did  not  succeed  in  shaking 
the  prisoner's  story  in  any  important  particular. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"How,  I  ask  you,  could  the  prisoner  have  foreseen 
and  prepared  for  all  those  ingenious  traps  formulated 
in  the  resourceful  brain  of  my  learned  friend,  unless  he 
was  telling  the  simple  truth? 

"Moreover,  the  gaps,  the  inconsistencies,  the  im- 
probabilities in  the  story  which  my  friend  has  pointed 
out,  to  my  mind  these  are  the  strongest  evidences  of 
its  truth.  For  if  he  had  made  it  all  up  he  would  be 
logical.  Man's  brain  works  that  way. 

"Suppose  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  the  pris- 
oner did  accomplish  that  miracle;  that  in  his  brain 
he  formulated  a  story  so  complete  in  every  ramifica- 
tion that  nine  hours'  cross-examination  could  batter 
no  holes  in  it. 

"If  that  is  true,  it  is  a  wonderful  brain,  isn't  it? 
The  prisoner,  in  short,  is  an  amazingly  clever  young 
man.  Now,  can  you  imagine  a  man  with  even  the 
rudiments  of  good  sense  persuading  himself  that  he 
could  make  a  successful  Indian  uprising  at  this  date? 
There  is  a  serious — ' 

Denholm  was  stopped  by  a  commotion  that  arose 
outside  the  door  of  the  court-room.  There  was  a 
great  throng  in  the  corridor  as  well.  He  looked  to  the 
bench  for  aid. 

His  lordship  rapped  smartly  with  his  gavel.  "Si- 
lence!" he  cried,  "or  I  will  have  the  room  cleared!" 

But  the  noise  came  nearer. 

"Officer,  what  is  the  trouble  outside?"  demanded 
the  bench. 

The  two  doorkeepers  with  great  hands  were  press- 
ing back  a  threatened  irruption  from  the  corridor. 
One  spoke  over  his  shoulder. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  there's  a  young  woman  here  says 
she  has  evidence  to  give  in  this  case." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AN    UNEXPECTED    WITNESS. 

THOSE  in  the  court-room  jumped  up  and  looked 
toward  the  door,  and  the  confusion  was  redoubled. 
Several  policemen  hurried  to  the  assistance  of  the 
doorkeepers.  The  judge  rapped  in  vain. 

Finally  one  of  the  doorkeepers  made  his  voice  heard 
above  the  scuffling: 

"She  says  her  name  is  Colina  Gaviller." 

A  profound  sensation  was  created  within  the  court. 
The  confusion  was  stilled  as  by  magic.  All  those 
inside  turned  back  to  look  at  the  young  prisoner. 

He  had  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  stood  gazing  toward 
the  door  with  a  wild,  white,  awakened  face.  Denholm 
had  a  restraining  hand  on  his  shoulder.  John  Gavil- 
ler, Gordon  Strange,  Inspector  Egerton;  there  was 
no  man  connected  with  the  case  but  betrayed  some- 
thing of  the  same  agitation. 

"Admit  Miss  Gaviller,"  commanded  the  judge. 

The  two  policemen,  with  herculean  exertions,  made 
an  opening  in  the  crowd  for  Colina  and  two  compan- 
ions to  enter  and  kept  every  one  else  out.  The  doors 
were  then  closed. 

At  Colina's  appearance  an  odd  murmur  rippled  over 
the  crowd.  Her  beauty  astonished  them.  She  walked 
down  the  aisle  of  the  court-room,  pale,  erect,  and  self- 
controlled.  Captain  Stinson  and  Cora  followed  her.' 

The  crowd  observed  her  movements  with  breathless 
attention. 

All  three  were  admitted  within  the  rail.  John' 
Gaviller  sat  near  the  gate.  He  looked  somewhat 

293 


294  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

dazed.  They  saw  her  offer  him  her  hand  with  a  swift 
smile,  charged  with  meaning. 

The  gentlemanly  half-breed,  Gordon  Strange, 
leaned  forward,  seeking  to  attract  her  attention  with 
an  eager  smile.  Him  she  ignored.  She  turned  to  the 
prisoner.  This  was  what  the  crowd  was  waiting  for. 

The  pale  youth  and  the  pale  girl  had  all  the  look 
of  the  principal  actors  in  a  drama.  What  was  be- 
tween them?  They  saw  her  smile  at  him,  too — an 
extraordinary  smile,  sorrowful,  solicitous,  cheery. 
None  could  interpret  it. 

Ambrose  was  engaged  in  a  desperate  struggle  to 
command  himself.  At  the  announcement  of  her  com- 
ing hope  had  sprung  up,  only  to  receive  a  deadlier 
wound  at  the  first  glimpse  of  her. 

She  had  not  found  Nesis;  very  well,  it  was  all  up 
with  him.  What  matter  how  dearly  Colina  loved  him 
if  he  had  to  go  to  jail?  He  saw  the  cheer  she  offered 
him  in  her  smile,  but  he  rejected  it. 

"Nothing  can  help  me  now,"  he  stubbornly  insisted. 
"If  I  let  myself  hope,  the  disappointment  will  drive 
me  insane."  He  fought  to  recover  his  apathy. 

Pascoe  and  Denholm  each  sprang  up  to  greet  the 
new  witness  as  if  by  the  warmth  of  his  welcome  she 
would  be  attracted  to  his  side. 

"One  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  the  judge.  He  ad- 
dressed Colina,  "You  have  evidence  to  give  in  this 
case  ?" 

Colina  gravely  inclined  her  head. 

His  lordship  frowned.  "This  is  very  irregular.  I 
must  ask  you  why  you  have  delayed  until  this  mo- 
ment?" 

"I  have  just  arrived  in  town,"  said  Colina. 

"Couldn't  you  have  communicated  with  counsel?" 

"I  have  come  from  the  north.  There  was  no  way 
of  sending  out  a  message  ahead.  I  am  the  first  one 
out  since  the  freeze-up." 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  295 

The  judge  nodded  to  show  himself  satisfied.  "Is 
the  evidence  you  have  to  give  favorable  to  the  pris- 
oner or  unfavorable?" 

The  court-room  held  its  breath  for  her  answer. 

"Favorable,"  she  murmured. 

John  Caviller  looked  up  astonished. 

The  judge  gave  her  over  to  Denholm.  "Will  you 
examine?"  he  asked. 

Denholm  consulted  with  his  client.  Ambrose,  up  to 
this  moment  so  indifferent  to  the  lawyers,  could  be 
seen  giving  him  positive  instructions.  Denholm  ex- 
postulated with  him.  The  bench  showed  symptoms 
of  impatience.  Finally  Denholm  rose. 

"My  lord,"  he  said.  "I  have  never  seen  Miss  Gavil- 
ler  before  this  moment.  I  have  no  inkling  of  the 
nature  of  her  evidence.  Left  to  myself,  I  should  ask 
for  an  adjournment;  surely  we  are  entitled  to  it. 
But  my  client  insists  on  going  ahead.  My  lord" — 
his  voice  shook  a  little — "none  but  an  innocent  man 
could  be  so  rash!" 

"Never  mind  that,"  rebuked  the  judge.  He  was 
distinctly  nettled  by  the  upset  of  court  decorum. 

"I  will  therefore  respectfully  ask  the  indulgence  of 
the  court,"  Denholm  went  on,  "and  move  to  reopen  the 
taking  of  testimony." 

"Proceed,"  said  the  judge. 

A  court  attendant  led  Colina  to  the  witness  stand. 
She  was  sworn.  Judge,  lawyers,  and  spectators  alike 
searched  her  grave,  composed  face  for  some  suggestion 
of  what  she  had  to  say.  Nothing  was  to  be  read 
there. 

"Miss  Caviller,"  said  Denholm,  "I  can  only  ask  you 
to  tell  in  your  own  words  all  that  you  know  bearing  on 
the  offenses  with  which  Ambrose  Doane  is  charged." 

"My  father,  Mr.  Macfarlane,  Dr.  Giddings  have  all 
testified,  I  suppose,"  said  Colina.  "They  can  tell  you 
as  much  or  more  than  I  can.  I  have  come  to  tell  you 


296  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

of  things  that  happened  after  his  arrest,  after  all  the 
others  went  out  of  the  country." 

Every  one  connected  with  the  case  sat  up*  Den- 
holm's  eye  brightened. 

"Please  go  on,"  he  said  and  sat  down. 

Colina,  in  a  low,  steady  voice,  commenced  her  story 
at  the  point  where  Ambrose  had  asked  her  to  find 
some  one  to  go  in  search  of  Nesis. 

While  she  spoke  her  grave  eyes  were  brooding  over 
the  prisoner's  bent,  dark  head  below.  He  dared  not 
look  at  her.  The  court-room  was  so  still  that  when 
she  paused  for  a  word  one  could  hear  the  clock  on  the 
wall  tick. 

She  told  of  her  journey  to  the  Kakisa  River;  her 
interview  with  Sergeant  Plaskett  (which  provoked  a 
smile)  ;  her  search  among  the  teepees ;  her  encounter 
with  Marya,  and  all  that  followed  on  that. 

Without  a  trace  of  self-consciousness  she  told  how 
she  and  Cora  had  set  off  at  night  on  the  unknown  trail, 
and  how  she  had  ridden  into  the  middle  of  the  hostile 
village  next  day  and  demanded  Nesis. 

"Two  girls  to  defy  a  whole  tribe  of  redskins!" — • 
the  thought  could  be  read  in  the  jurymen's  startled 
eyes. 

The  twelve  men  hung  out  of  the  box,  listening  with 
parted  lips.  All  that  had  gone  before  in  this  startling 
trial  was  nothing  to  Colina's  story. 

When  Colina  came  to  her  meeting  with  Nesis  her 
brave  port  was  shaken.  Her  voice  began  to  tremble. 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  name  the  dreadful  thing. 
The  judge,  perceiving  a  stoppage  in  her  story,  inter- 
rupted her. 

"Miss  Gaviller,  if  the  girl  could  understand  you, 
why  did  she  answer  by  signs?" 

Colina  lowered  her  head.  Those  near  saw  her  strug- 
gling to  control  a  shaken  breast,  saw  two  tears  steal 
down  her  pale  cheeks. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  297 

"Do  you  wish  to  be  excused?"  asked  the  judge  so- 
licitously. 

She  shook  her  head.  "One  moment,"  she  was  under- 
stood to  whisper. 

An  attendant  handed  up  a  glass  of  water. 

She  finally  managed  to  produce  her  voice  again, 
*'She  could  not  speak,"  she  said  very  low. 

"Why?"  asked  the  judge.  One  would  have  said  the 
whole  room  breathed  the  question. 

"They — had  mutilated  her,"  whispered  Colina.  "Her 
— her  tongue — was  cut  off." 

A  single  low  sound  of  horror  was  forced  from  the 
crowd.  The  prisoner  half  rose  with  a  choking  cry 
and  collapsed  with  his  head  in  his  arms  on  the  table. 

Denholm,  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  flung  an  arm  around 
his  shoulders.  Every  man  connected  with  the  case 
stared  before  him  as  if  he  beheld  the  horror  with  his 
physical  eyes.  Colina's  self-control  escaped  her  en- 
tirely. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept  like 
any  girl. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

FROM  DUMB  LIPS. 

THE  judge  proposed  an  adjournment.  The  witness, 
the  prisoner,  the  prisoner's  counsel  were  all  against 
it.  It  was  decided  to  continue.  A  breath  of  relief 
escaped  the  spectators.  Another  day  they  might 
not  be  able  to  secure  seats  in  the  court-room. 

Colina  described  how  they  gave  their  pursuers  the 
slip  and  gained  the  prairie. 

"We  decided  to  make  for  the  nearest  point  on  the 
Spirit  River,"  she  went  on,  "and  headed  southeast. 
After  we  had  ridden  for  two  hours  we  came  to  a 
slough  of  fresh  water,  and  camped  for  the  rest  of  the 
night  to  let  the  horses  feed  and  rest.  Nesis  and  I 
could  not  sleep.  We  talked  until  morning. 

"I  asked  her  questions,  and  she  would  answer  yes  or 
no,  or  let  me  know  by  signs  when  I  was  on  the  wrong 
track.  She  was  wonderfully  clever  in  making  up 
signs. 

"As  she  made  signs  to  me  I  interpreted  them  aloud, 
•and  she  would  nod  or  shake  her  head  according  to 
whether  I  was  right  or  wrong.  I  had  to  try  one 
question  after  another  until  I  hit  on  the  one  she  could 
answer.  In  this  way  little  by  little  I  built  up  her 
story. 

"The  next  day  we  continued  on  the  prairie.  The 
sky  was  heavily  overclouded,  and  there  were  flurries 
of  snow.  We  were  lost  for  several  hours,  until  the 
sun  came  out  again.  Our  food  was  almost  gone,  but  I 
managed  to  shoot  a  rabbit. 

"The  horses  were  very  tired.  Whenever  we  stopped 
I  talked  to  Nesis.  We  stayed  up  most  of  that  night. 

298 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  299 

It  was  too  cold  to  sleep.  By  the  end  of  the  second  day 
I  knew  everything  she  had  to  tell  me." 

Colina  drank  some  water  and  went  on.  "Nesis's 
story  begins  a  year  ago.  In  the  middle  of  the  winter 
my  father  was  accustomed  to  send  Gordon  Strange 
with  an  outfit  to  the  Kakisa  River  to  trade  with  the 
tribe  and  bring  back  the  fur. 

"While  there  he  lived  in  a  little  log  shack  overlook- 
ing the  Indian  village.  Nesis  said  it  w:w  Watusk's 
custom  to  go  up  to  the  shack  every  nig1  x  and  the 
two  men  would  talk.  She  knew  that  they  talked  Eng- 
lish together,  and  she  used  to  steal  up  after  Watusk 
and  listen  outside  through  a  chink  between  the  logs." 

Every  eye  in  the  court-room  was  turned  on  Gordon 
Strange.  The  half-breed  made  marks  with  a  pencil 
on  a  pad  and  tried  to  call  up  the  old  modest,  deprecat- 
ing smile.  But  an  extraordinary  ashy  tint  crept  under 
his  swarthy  skin. 

In  spite  of  himself,  his  eyes  darted  furtively  to  meas- 
ure the  distance  to  the  door.  There  were  half  a 
thousand  people  between ;  moreover,  the  doors  were 
closed  and  guarded  by  six  policemen. 

Colina  carefully  avoided  glancing  in  Strange's  di- 
rection. 

"At  that  time  Nesis  had  no  idea  of  using  what  she 
learned  from  their  talk,"  she  went  on.  "She  merely 
wished  to  hear  English  spoken,  so  that  she  would  not 
forget  what  her  father  had  taught  her.  Nesis  attached 
a  mysterious  virtue  to  the  ability  to  speak  English. 
It  was  a  kind  of  fetish  with  her. 

"She  believed  that  her  father's  ability  to  speak  Eng- 
lish had  threatened  Watusk's  power  in  the  tribe,  and 
that  Watusk,  on  that  account,  had  had  her  father 
put  out  of  the  way.  Therefore  she  kept  it  a  secret 
that  she  could  speak  it,  too. 

"Nesis  said  that  all  of  Mr.  Strange's  and  Watusk's 
talk  was  against  the  white  people.  She  said  they  used 


300  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

to  discuss  how  the  whites  could  be  driven  out  of  the 
country.  She  said  that  Mr.  Strange  used  to  tell 
Watusk  about  how  Louis  Riel  fought  the  whites. 

"He  said  that  Louis  Riel  would  be  the  king  of  this 
country  to-day  if  he  had  not  gone  crazy.  He  used  to 
ask  Watusk  how  he  would  like  to  be  a  king.  He 
used  to  flatter  Watusk  and  tell  him  he  was  a  great 
chief. 

"He  explained  to  Watusk  how  he  could  kill  a  whole 
army  of  the  whites  if  he  could  lead  them  into  the  little 
valley  beyond  the  Kakisa." 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  escaped  the  court.  In  al- 
most every  sentence  of  Colina's  there  was  the  material 
of  a  fresh  sensation. 

Ambrose  lifted  his  head,  and  a  little  color  came  back 
to  his  cheeks.  Whether  or  not  it  saved  him  in  the  end, 
it  was  sweet  to  hear  himself  justified. 

Colina  continued:  "Nesis  said  that  Watusk  often 
complained  to  Mr.  Strange  that  my  father  was  always 
making  the  goods  dearer  and  the  fur  cheaper.  Mr. 
Strange  told  him  to  wait  a  little  while  and  he  would 
see  great  changes. 

"Pretty  soon  things  would  get  so  bad,  he  explained, 
that  the  Company  would  take  John  Gaviller  away  and 
make  him  the  trader.  He  told  Watusk  to  wait  until 
the  grain  was  thrashed  next  year,  meaning  last  sum- 
mer, and  there  would  be  great  trouble. 

"He  said  if  Watusk  did  everything  he  told  him  he 
would  make  Watusk  a  great  man.  At  different  times 
he  gave  Watusk  presents — silk  handkerchiefs,  finger 
rings,  pistols,  a  sword.  By  and  by  he  said  he  would 
make  Watusk  great  presents. 

"Nesis's  story  then  jumped  to  the  time,  last  sum- 
mer, when  Watusk  and  many  of  the  people  rode  into 
Fort  Enterprise  to  get  flour,"  Colina  went  on.  "In 
the  mean  time  Ambrose  Doane  had  been  to  Enterprise, 
and  had  gone  away  again  to  get  an  outfit. 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  301 

"My  father  refused  to  give  the  Indians  any  flour 
because  they  had  been  trading  with  liis  competitor. 
The  Indians  were  angry,  Nesis  said,  and  Watusk  was 
scared.  One  night  Gordon  Strange  came  to  see  Wa- 
tusk, and  Nesis  listened  outside  the  teepee. 

"She  said  Strange  said  to  Watusk  to  let  the  Indians 
get  mad.  Strange  said  he  wanted  to  have  trouble. 
There  was  talk  of  burning  the  store  then.  Strange 
said  that  would  fix  John  Gaviller,  all  right.  He  told 
Watusk  that  the  police  would  let  the  people  off  easily 
because,  as  he  said,  my  father  had  treated  them  so 
badly." 

Colina  drew  a  long  breath  to  steady  herself.  "They 
talked  about  the  chances  of  my  father's  dying,"  she 
went  on.  "He  was  very  sick  at  that  time.  Mr. 
Strange  suggested  to  Watusk  that  it  wouldn't  take 
much  to  finish  him.  They  both  laughed  at  that. 

"He  told  Watusk  that  if  John  Gaviller  died  he, 
Strange,  would  settle  all  the  trouble,  and  then  the 
Company  would  make  him  the  trader  for  good.  He 
told  Watusk  that  when  he  got  to  be  trader  he  would 
soon  fix  Ambrose  Doane,  too. 

"Mr.  Strange  was  always  telling  Watusk  to  tell 
the  Kakisas  that  my  father  hated  them,  but  that  he, 
Strange,  was  their  friend. 

"Nesis  said  that  a  couple  of  days  after  this  Am- 
brose Doane  came  down  the  river,  and  after  him  his 
outfit  on  a  raft.  When  Ambrose  Doane  heard  that  the 
Indians  were  hungry  he  took  men  and  crossed  the 
river  and  broke  into  the  flour-mill  and  ground  flour 
for  them. 

"This  took  two  nights  and  a  day.  On  the  second 
night  Gordon  Strange  came  across  to  see  Watusk 
again.  Nesis  said  he  was  so  angry  that  he  started 
in  talking  without  sending  her  out  of  the  teepee.  He 
had  no  idea,  of  course,  that  she  could  understand  Eng- 
lish. She  made  herself  look  stupid,  she  said. 


302  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Mr.  Strange  was  angry  because,  if  the  Indians 
got  their  flour  and  went  back  to  the  Kakisa  River 
satisfied,  all  his  plans  would  be  spoiled.  His  attempt 
to  create  a  rebellion  among  the  half-breed  farmers 
had  already  failed. 

"Nesis  said  that  Strange  cursed  Ambrose  Doane  for 
spoiling  his  plans.  She  said  he  told  Watusk  he  must 
burn  the  flour,  and  then  the  Indians  would  surely 
make  trouble.  They  talked  about  how  to  do  it. 

"It  was  arranged  that  Strange  was  to  bring  Wa- 
tusk a  big  can  of  coal-oil :  Watusk  was  to  hide  it  under 
the  floor  of  Gaston  Trudeau's  empty  shack,  and  af- 
terward store  the  flour  there.  Then  Watusk  was  to 
give  a  big  tea-dance  to  get  all  the  people  out  of  the 
way. 

"Before  going  to  the  dance  he  was  to  pour  oil 
over  the  bags,  and  leave  the  window  open  so  Strange 
could  fire  it  after  he  had  gone." 

Colina  paused  to  take  a  drink  of  water.  The  judge 
whispered  to  a  court  attendant,  who  in  turn  whis- 
pered to  a  policeman.  Thereafter  the  blue-coat's  eyes 
never  left  Gordon  Strange.  The  half-breed  had  lost 
all  pretense  of  smiling. 

He  looked  like  a  trapped  animal.  The  court-room 
scarcely  regarded  him.  They  hung  upon  Colina's  lips. 
Every  time  she  paused  her  listeners'  pent-up  breath 
escaped. 

Colina  went  on:  "At  the  tea-dance  Nesis  saw  Am- 
brose Doane  for  the  first  time.  She  said  she —  '  Co- 
lina lowered  her  eyes  and  sought  for  a  word — "she 
liked  him.  After  that  she  wanted  to  help  him.  When 
the  alarm  of  fire  was  raised,  and  all  ran  to  the  burning 
building,  Nesis  kept  near  to  Ambrose  Doane  and 
watched  all  that  he  did. 

"She  said  she  saw  him  go  after  Watusk,  and  heard 
him  make  Watusk  tell  the  Indians  not  to  be  foolish, 
but  go  back  to  the  teepees  until  morning.  But  Wa- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  303 

tusk  spoke  to  them  half-heartedly  and  they  did  not 
listen.  It  was  Myengeen,  Nesis  said,  who  urged  them 
to  go  across  the  river,  and  break  into  the  store. 

"Nesis  did  not  see  what  happened  at  the  boat.  The 
crowd  was  too  great  for  her  to  get  near.  But  next 
morning  when  they  came  back  she  heard  Myengeen 
say  to  Watusk  that  Gordon  Strange  had  sent  word 
that  they  must  tie  Ambrose  Doane  up  and  carry  him 
away. 

"She  said  it  was  soon  known  throughout  the  tribe 
that  if  the  police  came  everybody  was  to  say  that 
Ambrose  Doane  made  all  the  trouble.  She  said  he 
was  tied  up  and  carried  away  on  a  horse. 

"When  they  all  got  to  the  Kakisa  River  a  week 
later  she  found  that  he  was  imprisoned  in  Gordon. 
Strange's  house,  and  watched  day  and  night." 

So  far  the  power  of  Colina's  story  had  carried  her 
hearers  along  breathlessly  with  her.  Not  until  she 
reached  this  point  did  a  very  obvious  question  occur 
to  the  judge. 

"One  moment,  Miss  Gaviller,"  he  said.  "I  presume 
you  understand  that  this  story  would  have  more 
weight  as  evidence  if  the  girl  Nesis  was  produced 
in  court.  Can  she  be  brought  here?" 

Once  more  Colina  faltered — and  steeled  herself.  Her 
eyes  became  misty,  but  she  looked  directly  at  the  judge. 
"My  Lord,"  she  said  simply,  "she  is  dead." 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

THE    AVENGING    OF    NESIS. 

His  lordship  started  back  thoroughly  discomposed. 
"Really  !  Really !"  he  murmured  helplessly.  The  pris- 
oner hid  his  face  in  his  arms  again.  An  audible  wave 
of  compassion  traveled  over  the  room. 

"Should  I  tell  about  that?'*  Colina  asked  quietly. 

The  judge  signified  his  assent. 

"On  the  third  morning  on  the  prairie,"  Colina  con- 
tinued, "the  Indians  found  us  again.  They  had  tracked 
us  all  the  way  from  the  Kakisa.  They  did  not  attack 
us,  but  followed  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind. 

"There  were  about  fifty  of  them.  Whenever  we 
stopped  to  rest  or  eat,  they  rode  around  us  in  a  big 
circle  yelling  and  firing  their  guns  in  the  air — trying 
to  break  our  nerve." 

A  gasp  escaped  her  hearers  at  the  picture  she 
evoked — three  women  on  the  wide  prairie,  and  a  horde 
of  yelling  savages !" 

"I  did  not  mind  them  so  much,"  Colina  went  on  sim- 
ply, "for  I  was  sure  they  were  too  cowardly  to  attack 
us.  But  our  food  was  all  gone  by  this  time,  and  I 
could  not  leave  the  others  to  hunt  for  game.  The 
horses  were  completely  played  out. 

"At  night  we  suffered  from  the  cold.  We  could 
not  make  a  fire  because  the  light  of  it  blinded  us 
and  showed  us  to  the  Indians.  On  the  fourth  night 
as  we  were  trying  to  push  on  in  the  hope  of  losing 
them  in  the  dark,  the  horse  that  Nesis  was  riding  fell 
down  and  died  in  his  tracks.  After  that  we  took 
turns  walking. 

"Next  day  they  easily  found  us  again.  It  was 
304 


305 

very  cold,  and  we  could  scarcely  keep  going.  In  the 
afternoon  we  came  to  the  edge  of  the  bench  of  the 
Spirit  River.  It  was  a  long  way  down  to  the  bank. 

"When  we  got  there  we  saw  that  heavy  ice  was  run- 
ning in  the  river.  We  had  to  travel  another  mile  along 
the  bank  before  we  saw  enough  dead  timber  in  one 
place  to  make  a  raft.  I  was  afraid  we  wouldn't  have 
strength  enough  to  move  it.  We  hadn't  eaten  for  two 
days. 

"It  was  still  daylight,  and  we  made  a  fire  there. 
The  Indians  came  and  watched  us  from  a  little  knoll, 
less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  back. 

"Cora  took  one  of  the  remaining  horses  away  and 
killed  it,  and  brought  back  meat  to  the  fire,  and  we 
ate  a  little.  I  thought  if  wf  slept  a  little  while  we 
would  be  better  able  to  start  the  raft.  So  Cora  and 
I  lay  down  while  Nesis  kept  watch." 

Colina's  voice  was  shaking.  She  paused  to  steady 
it.  "I  was  careful  to  choose  a  place  out  in  the  open," 
she  went  on.  "We  were  in  a  grassy  bottom  beside  the 
river. 

"The  nearest  cover  was  a  poplar  bluff  about  three 
hundred  yards  back.  He — he  must  have  crawled  down 
to  that.  I  was  awakened  by  a  shot.  They  had  got 
her!" 

Colina's  clenched  hands  were  pressed  close  together, 
her  head  was  down.  The  quiet  voice  broke  out  a  little 
wildly. 

"Ah !  I  have  never,  never  ceased  to  blame  myself ! 
I  should  not  have  slept!  I  ought  not  to  have  let  her 
watch !  But  I  never  thought  they  would  dare  shoot !" 

Colina  went  on  in  a  schooled  voice  more  affecting 
than  an  outcry. 

"Nesis  was  shot  through  the  breast  I  had  nothing 
to  give  her.  I  stanched  the  wound  the  best  way  I 
could. 

"I  saw  at  once  that  she  could  not  live.     Indeed*  I 


306  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

prayed  that  she  would  not  linger — in  such  pain.  She 
lived  throughout  the  night.  She  was  conscious  most 
of  the  time — and  smiling.  She  died  at  daybreak. 

"I  do  not  know  what  happened  after  that.  I  gave 
out.  It  was  Cora  who  saw  the  launch  coming  down 
the  river,  and  signaled  it  with  her  petticoat.  They 
landed  and  carried  us  aboard.  I  remember  that. 

"I  wanted  them  to  turn  back  and  take  us  up  to  the 
crossing.  But  it  was  impossible  to  go  against  the 
current  on  account  of  the  ice.  They  took  us  down 
to  Fort  Enterprise.  We  took  Nesis.  She  is  buried 
there. 

"At  Fort  Enterprise  we  had  to  wait  until  the  ice 
packed  in  the  river,  and  enough  snow  fell  to  make 
a  winter  trail.  Then  we  started  with  dog  teams. 
I  brought  Captain  Stinson  and  my  servant,  Cora 
Thomas,  for  additional  witnesses.  It  is  seven  hun- 
dred miles.  That  is  why  we  were  so  long." 

Mr.  Pascoe  rose.  His  erstwhile  ruddy  cheeks 
showed  an  odd  pallor  under  the  purple  veins,  and  he 
looked  thoroughly  disconcerted.  "My  Lord,"  he  said, 
"this  is  a  very  affecting  tale.  It  is,  however,  my 
painful  duty  to  protest  against  its  admission  as  evi- 
dence." 

Colina  interrupted  him.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  she 
said  quickly.  She  produced  a  little  book  from  inside 
her  dress.  "May  I  explain  further?"  she  asked  the 
judge  eagerly. 

"One  moment,  please,  Mr.  Pascoe,"  said  his  lord- 
ship. He  signed  to  Colina  to  proceed. 

"I  meant,  of  course,  to  bring  Nesis  here,"  Colina 
continued.  "When  I  saw  that — that  I  never  would, 
while  I  didn't  know  anything  about  courts  or  evidence, 
I  felt  that  it  would  be  safer  to  have  a  written  state- 
ment. 

"This  book  is  my  diary  that  I  always  carry  with 
me.  That  night  I  wrote  in  the  blank  pages  what  Nesis 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  307 

had  told  me,  and  later  when  she  was  conscious  I  read 
it  to  her,  and  she  affirmed  it  sentence  by  sentence.  She 
understood  how  important  it  was. 

"You  may  know  that  she  comprehended  what  she 
was  doing  because  she  made  me  make  changes — you 
will  find  them  here.  At  the  end  I  wrote  her  name  and 
she  made  a  cross.  Cora  Thomas  heard  me  read  it  to 
her,  and  saw  her  make  her  mark." 

The  judge  held  out  his  hand  for  the  book. 

Once  more  Mr.  Pascoe  rose.  "My  Lo^d,"  he  said, 
"it  must  be  clear  to  you  that  the  ends  of  justice  have 
been  defeated  by  the  dramatic  power  of  this  tale.  It 
would  be  farcical  to  ask  this  jury  to  deliver  an  impar- 
tial verdict  now.  This  new  evidence  must  be  weighed 
and  sifted  with  calm  minds.  I  request  that  you  declare 
a  mistrial,  and  that — " 

A  still  more  dramatic  surprise  awaited  Mr.  Pascoe 
and  the  court.  Toward  the  end  of  the  telling  of  Co- 
lina's  painful  tale  Gordon  Strange  had  been  forgot- 
ten by  all  in  the  room  except  the  policeman  detailed 
to  watch  him.  This  man  suddenly  made  a  spring  to- 
ward the  half-breed,  where  he  sat  huddled  beside  his 
table.  He  was  too  late.  The  court  was  electrified  by 
the  muffled  sound  of  a  shot.  Strange  fell  forward  on 
the  table.  A  revolver  clattered  to  the  floor  from  under 
his  coat. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

NEWSPAPER   CLIPPINGS. 

THE  following  is  taken  from  the  Prince  George 
Star,  January  19,  19 —  Extra. 

NOT  GUILTY! 

At  7.53  P.M.  the  jury  in  the  trial  of  Ambrose  Doane 
for  treason-felony  returned  a  verdict  of  not  guilty 
without  leaving  their  seats.  This  was  a  foregone 
conclusion.  Upon  issuing  from  the  courthouse  the  ac- 
quitted man  received  an  immense  ovation  from  the 
waiting  crowd. 

From  the  Prince  George  Star,  January  24,  19 — : 
Editorial. 

THE   REAL   CRIMINAL! 

Now  that  the  trial  of  Ambrose  Doane  is  a  thing 
of  the  past,  a  tragic  miscarriage  of  justice  happily 
averted,  and  the  excitement  abated,  it  is  time  for  the 
thoughtful  to  examine  into  the  underlying  causes  of 
the  trouble  at  Fort  Enterprise. 

That  there  was  serious  trouble  no  one  denies;  but 
the  general  disposition  is,  since  the  innocent  man  is 
free  and  the  guilty  one  dead  by  his  own  hand,  to  for- 
get the  whole  matter.  Now  is  the  time  to  take  meas- 
ures to  make  it  impossible  for  anything  of  the  kind 
to  occur  again. 

Granting  that  Gordon  Strange,  that  extraordinary 
character,  played  for  high  stakes,  lost  and  paid — 
was  he  the  sole  criminal?  What  sort  of  conditions 

308 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  309 

were  they  up  there  that  made  it  possible  for  him  to 
engineer  his  unique  schemes  of  villainy? 

For  years  the  arrogant  policy  and  the  unscrupulous 
methods  of  the  great  corporation  that  holds  the  north 
of  our  province  in  thrall  have  been  matters  of  com- 
mon gossip  in  the  streets.  But  no  man  has  dared  to 
raise  his  voice. 

"They  say"  that  the  mighty  corporation  rides  over 
the  helpless  redskins  roughshod.  "They  say"  that 
the  Indians  are  charged  exorbitant  prices  for  the 
necessities  of  life,  while  a  mere  pittance  is  given  them 
for  their  valuable  furs. 

Is  it  true?  Who  knows?  No  news  comes  out  of 
that  sealed  country  save  by  the  pleasure  of  the  great 
Company.  Certain  aspects  of  the  testimony  given 
in  the  Ambrose  Doane  trial  leads  us  to  suspect  that 
these  charges  are  not  without  foundation. 

Parliament  should  investigate.  The  question  is, 
does  the  Province  of  Athabasca  control  the  North- 
west Fur  Company,  or  does  the  Company  run  the 
province? 

From  the  Prince  George  Star,  January  27,  19 — . 

GAVILLER  IS  OUT! 

At  the  head  offices  of  the  Northwest  Fur  Company 
it  was  given  out  this  morning  that  the  resignation  of 
John  Gaviller,  the  Company's  trader  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise, had  been  accepted  to  take  effect  immediately. 

Duncan  MacDonald,  general  manager  of  the  Com- 
pany, said,  when  asked  for  a  further  statement:  "Mr. 
Gaviller's  resignation  was  requested  for  the  good  of 
the  service.  Owing  to  the  conditions  of  our  business 
the  traders  have  to  be  given  the  widest  latitude  in  the 
command  of  their  posts,  and  we  do  not  always  know 
what  is  going  on. 


310  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

"Mr.  Gaviller  was  very  successful  at  Enterprise,  but 
the  disclosures  at  the  Doane  trial  showed  that  his  acts 
have  not  always  been  in  accord  with  the  policy  of  this 
company  in  dealing  with  the  Indians.  To  our  mind 
the  welfare  of  the  Indians  is  more  important  than 
profits." 

Mr.  Gaviller  was  later  found  at  the  Royal  George 
Hotel.  Upon  being  shown  the  foregoing  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  express  an  opinion  of  it. 

"Put  not  your  trust  in  corporations!"  he  said.  "I 
have  given  them  thirty  years  of  my  life,  my  best  years, 
and  here  I  am  turned  out  over  night !  It  is  the  threat 
of  a  parliamentary  investigation  that  has  led  them  to 
their  present  panic  and  attempt  to  make  a  scapegoat 
of  me. 

"If  they  think  I'll  take  it  lying  down  they  are  much 
mistaken.  The  Indians'  welfare  more  important  than 
profits,  eh?  Excuse  me  if  I  laugh."  Mr.  Gaviller 
added  somewhat  stronger  expression. 

"You  can  say  from  me,"  he  went  on,  "that  not  only 
have  I  always  followed  instructions  to  the  letter,  but 
that  twice  a  year  I  laid  my  books  open  to  the  Company 
inspector,  who  was  informed  of  the  minutest  details  of 
my  transactions. 

"I  accept  my  share  in  the  blame  for  what  happened. 
I  have  learned  my  lesson.  But  let  me  tell  you  this, 
that  the  policy  pursued  at  Fort  Enterprise  was  the 
Company's  policy — letter  and  spirit. 

"Moreover,  in  my  time  Fort  Enterprise  has  paid 
thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  shareholders 
of  the  Company,  and  I  have  not  profited  one  cent  be- 
yond my  salary." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Gaviller's  daughter  came  down- 
stairs and  he  would  say  no  more.  Miss  Gaviller  de- 
clined to  speak  for  publication. 

From  the  Prince  George  Star,  February  3,  19 — . 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  311 

A  BEAUTIFUL   ADORNMENT. 

Our  city  has  the  honor  of  containing  at  the  present 
moment  the  most  beautiful  set  of  furs  ever  exhibited  in 
America.  It  is  to  be  seen  in  the  window  of  Messrs. 
Renfrew  &  Watkins's  establishment  on  Oliver  Avenue. 

It  consists  of  three  magnificent  black  fox  skins 
smooth  and  lustrous  as  jet,  except  for  the  snowy  tips 
of  the  brushes.  Two  of  the  pelts  go  to  the  neck-piece, 
while  the  third — the  most  beautiful  skin  that  ever  came 
out  of  the  north  in  the  opinion  of  these  experienced 
furriers — makes  the  muff. 

Mr.  Renfrew  refused  to  set  a  value  on  the  furs,  but 
we  learn  on  good  authority  that  they  are  insured  for 
five  thousand  dollars. 

There  are  romantic  and  tragic  associations  with 
these  furs.  Two  of  the  pelts  have  been  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  Renfrew  for  some  time.  He  held  them 
on  speculation  until  he  could  obtain  a  third  to  com- 
plete the  set. 

This  one,  the  finest  of  the  three,  was  brought  out 
last  August  by  Ambrose  Doane.  This  was  the  skin 
which  almost  cost  John  Gaviller  his  life,  and  indirectly 
induced  a  rebellion  among  the  Kakisa  Indians.  All 
those  who  followed  the  course  of  the  recent  trial  will 
remember  it. 

Upon  obtaining  the  third  pelt,  Mr.  Renfrew  sent  the 
three  to  London  to  be  dressed  and  made  up.  They 
have  just  been  returned. 

A  purchaser  has  already  been  found  for  the  set. 
His  name  is  kept  secret,  but  we  are  assured  that  the 
beautiful  furs  will  remain  in  this  province. 

From  the  Prince  George  Star,  February  3,  19 — . 
GAVILLER  GOES  WITH  MINOT  &  DOANE. 

An  interesting  fact  leaked  out  yesterday  when  it  be- 


312  THE  FUR  BRINGERS 

came  known  that  Ambrose  Doane  had  made  an  offer 
to  John  Gaviller  to  take  charge  of  the  new  trading- 
post  that  Minot  &  Doane  purpose  establishing  on  Great 
Buffalo  Lake. 

Mr.  Doane  could  not  be  found  by  the  Star  reporter. 
Since  the  trial  he  has  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time 
dodging  reporters.  He  has  a  private  room  at  the 
Athabasca  Club  which  no  representative  of  the  press 
has  yet  succeeded  in  locating. 

John  Gaviller  was  found  at  the  Royal  George  Hotel. 
He  admitted  the  truth  of  the  report,  and  seemed  very 
pleased  by  his  new  prospects. 

"It  tells  its  own  story,  doesn't  it?"  he  said.  "I 
belong  to  the  north.  I  have  traded  up  there  thirty 
years,  and  I  will  not  be  any  worse  trader  for  what 
has  happened." 

In  answer  to  further  questions  he  only  shook  his 
head.  "I  talked  too  much  to  you  fellows  the  other 
day,"  he  said.  "You  caught  me  at  a  disadvantage. 
Nothing  more  to  say.  The  arrangements  between  Am- 
brose Doane  and  me  concern  nobody  but  ourselves.  I 
may  say,  however,  that  our  relations  are  of  the  hap- 
piest nature." 

From  the  Prince  George  Star,  February  21,  19 — . 
THE  CULMINATION  OF  A  ROMANCE. 

In  another  column  of  this  paper  will  be  found  a 
notice  of  the  marriage  of  Ambrose  Doane  to  Miss 
Colina  Gaviller,  which  took  place  a  week  ago  to-day 
at  the  Chapel  of  the  Redeemer  on  Jarvis  Street. 

The  ceremony  was  performed  by  the  rector,  Rev. 
Algernon  Mitford.  The  only  witnesses  were  the  bride's 
father,  who  gave  her  away,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arthur 
Denholm. 

With  the  traveling  costume  the  bride  wore  the  won- 


THE  FUR  BRINGERS  313 

iderful  set  of  black-fox  furs  which  have  been  town  talk 
during  the  past  month.  Ambrose  Doane  was  the  pur- 
chaser. 

The  news  was  suppressed  until  to-day  on  account  of 
the  desire  of  all  parties  to  avoid  further  publicity. 
We  learn  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Doane  and  Mr.  Gaviller 
left  for  the  north  by  stage  on  the  same  day. 

They  part  company  at  Miwasa  landing;  the  bride 
and  groom  continue  north  to  Moultrie  on  Lake  Mi- 
wasa, while  Mr.  Gaviller  goes  northwest  to  Fort  Enter- 
prise to  settle  his  affairs,  thence  to  his  new  post  on 
Great  Buffalo  Lake. 

We  learn  that  Mr.  Doane  is  to  run  the  post  at 
Moultrie,  while  his  partner,  Mr.  Minot,  will  operate 
an  opposition  store  to  the  Company  at  Fort  Enter- 
prise. 

A  private  letter  from  the  landing  tells  of  a  wonder- 
ful van  on  runners  that  Ambrose  Doane  is  building 
there  to  house  his  bride  on  their  long  journey  north. 

It  is  to  contain  a  stove,  bookshelves,  side-board, 
piano,  and  all  the  comforts  of  a  city  residence,  and  will 
be  drawn  by  four  horses. 

Their  way  lies  over  the  regular  winter  road  over 
the  ice  of  the  Miwasa  River.  Job,  the  little  dog  who 
was  mentioned  so  often  during  the  trial,  will  be  a 
member  of  the  party. 


THE  END 


JSffiSf £2!!&  LKWY  FACILITY 


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